


Companion

by Elliewood



Series: Congruence [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Coma, Comfort, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Forgiveness, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Mind Meld, Miscarriage, Multi, Oral Sex, Partner Betrayal, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-31 07:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 52,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliewood/pseuds/Elliewood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dying lets you leave all your issues behind; coming back to life means you have to deal with them.  </p><p>An add-on to STID that covers the time between Jim's resurrection and the re-christening of the Enterprise.  Also a sequel to "Compeer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because really, as I said in a comment on "Compeer," you don't just die, then two weeks later hear a few voices in your head and BOOM wake up looking beautiful and fully articulate . Real life doesn't work that way. Science fiction life doesn't even work that way! This is going to be a slower ride and quite the emotional clusterfuck, as one reader put it. Enjoy...
> 
> And, as is the case for its prequel "Compeer," I originally started posting serial chapters of this piece earlier (September 2013), then deleted it and am now reposting it, so you may well have read it already, at least up until Chapter 36. The remaining chapters will be new, so if you already started reading, you can skip to the latest chapter once I get it posted. If you want to start over, you'll find some new edits in several of the chapters, but they are relatively minor.
> 
> And this is the second of a series ("Congruence") of three works, intended to be read in order but functioning more or less independently as well.

 

I can't remember ever feeling this incredibly happy. 

Deliriously happy, like I'm weightless on my own feet and could run forever, never getting tired or thirsty or winded, just running for the pure joy of running, on and on.  And I'm running through the ship -- _my_  ship -- and I know every curve and corner and Jefferies tube and conduit, every ladder and lift and door and panel, and I run by each of them and know them by name, call them by name, and she answers me, knowing she is mine and I am hers. And there is damage and there are scars and broken places but we both know they will heal, in time.  And I'm weightless on my feet, my feet aren't even hitting the decks but are still somehow propelling me along, faster and faster until the corridors flow by in a mingling of colors, growing brighter until everything is white and brilliant and pure joy. And I throw my arms out, my feet still flying, and I yell, shout, scream in absurd happiness, flying through my beautiful bright ship, all the colors merged into one blinding whiteness...

And I think, _I want to go to the bridge, where I belong._  

And just like that, I'm there in an instant, not flying anymore but just looking out at the bridge from the turbolift, and I can't step out.  Suddenly my feet won't move, like they're glued in place, and there's a hazy boundary, like a wall of transparent jelly between me and the bridge that I can't pass through.  And the white fades back into separate colors and I can see the movement of red, blue, and gold, can hear the hum and the beeps and the whistles, the flicker of the viewscreen, but I can't pass through, my feet won't move, my arm won't rise, my hand won't reach out through that jelly between me and them.  And they're all hazy, all my people, I call them by name but they don't answer me, they don't hear me, and I try to reach out my hand through that jelly but it won't move, my arm won't rise.  And no one sees me, no one turns to me, no one knows I'm there, and they're all indistinct, all blurred through that wall of jelly that I can't pass through.

And I think, _Does anyone know I'm here?_

And he turns, a patch of blue and black, and he sees me, and he comes toward me.  And I see him, not blurred anymore, like the rest, but clear.  And my feet unglue themselves to move to him, my arm can rise, my hand reaches for him, and he turns to me, his blue and his black, and he sees me, he knows me, he knows I'm there, and he smiles more brightly than my beautiful bright ship, more brightly than anything I've ever seen.  And his eyes are laughing, his hand reaches for my face as he laughs, my hand reaches for his waist, and we fit together, knowing he is mine and I am his.  And I know there is damage and there are scars and broken places but they will heal, in time.  And he is laughing against my shoulder as his hands pull at my hair, and I bury my face in his neck as my hands press against his back.

And he thinks, _Welcome home_.

And I am happier than I ever remember being in my entire fucking life.

 


	2. Scotty and Keenser

 

There are many times of the day that Keenser loves.  Popping out of bed in the morning for a cup of tea and a buttery, trailing after Scotty as he tours his ship and grumbles to him about what needs doing and what should have been done better, squeezing into the tight spaces and high places that the Human can't reach to check, clean, repair, and maintain, then popping back into bed after a good dinner and a drink or two.  But the best time of all is lunch, when they retreat to Scotty's office, prop their feet up on his desk, eat their meals, and chew the fat.  Or rather, Scotty chews while Keenser listens, each perfectly satisfied with the arrangement.

Even in the wake of the _Vengeance_ incident (as Keenser calls it; Scotty prefers not to lay blame on the ship herself but rather on the daft buggers that constructed and subsequently destroyed her), the rhythm of their days is largely the same, busy without being frenetic, soothing without being boring.  There is not much cleaning and maintaining to be done now that the warp and impulse engines are shut down indefinitely, their repairs postponed until the hull -- missing in several places, like tender skin peeled away, the remainder scorched and burned and needing to be peeled away too, eventually -- is restored.  Rather it is the overwhelming amount of damage to catalog and debris to clear away that occupies their time.  And Scotty is sighing more than he's grumbling these days, putting his hand on every dent and bruise they can find, as though he were trying to comfort the ship and will her to heal.  Keenser aches to see his face sag at those times, the way your own guts drop when you see someone else take a sucker punch.  Together they do their best to clear her decks of the rubbish that used to be cargo, components, equipment, furniture, even people, and Keenser does his best to keep Scotty's spirits up, humming along to his tuneless songs, nodding in agreement even to things he doesn't agree with, and pretending not to notice that Scotty has, for the third day in a row, left out the horseradish in his grilled roast beef and Stilton sandwich.

 

***

 

Even so, lunch is still his favorite time of the day.  So he found it rather an unwelcome disruption when, on that third day of the cleaning process, their congenial midday meal was interrupted by Mr. Spock.  

Scotty's look of surprise when their commanding officer entered his office quickly gave way to one of apology as he pulled his feet off the desk and swept bread crumbs into the waste container, then wiped his hands on his black tee shirt.  Spock shook his head slightly to indicate the effort was unnecessary; Keenser interpreted the gesture as permission to keep his feet right where they were. 

"Mr. Scott.  I would like to offer my services to you, in whatever way you deem necessary for the rapid repair and redeployment of this ship."

Scotty's jaw dropped.  Keenser glared.

"Uh...Well, aye, sir, thank you, uh, there's certainly a lot yet to do..." Scotty stammered.  "But, begging your pardon, I'm sure you have more important things to do, so, bureaucratic things and the like, don't you now?  More important things than fixing up this poor lass, eh?"

"Indeed, I do not."

"Well now, wouldn't you rather tend to the science lab?  It must be a fair mess, what with..."

"I completed the clearing of the science lab forty-nine minutes ago.  My efforts are no longer required there."

Keenser glared some more. He knew, as did everyone else on the skeleton crew, that their captain was at that moment in a coma at Starfleet Medical, his life but not his consciousness restored, their own ship's doctor in continual attendance to the point of exhaustion, and here stood a man who would claim to be his friend but who apparently would rather spend his time mucking about on a crippled ship than tending to his injured colleague.  Were Scotty in that condition, there would be nothing that could induce Keenser to leave his side.  

Scotty had evidently decided to be more charitable than his friend as he gave the first officer another chance to reconsider his choice.  

"Och, well, shouldn't you take a moment to stop in on the captain, you know, see how he's doing and whatnot?"

"Dr. McCoy and the rest of the staff on duty are providing for the captain's medical needs, and the good doctor is updating me at regular intervals as to his status.  My presence there would serve no purpose."

The captain would be well served to find himself a different sort of friend, Keenser decided, and kept his feet defiantly planted on Scotty's desk. But Scotty finally nodded, if a bit stiffly, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"All right then, you can help with getting rid of the scrap we're tearing out of Engineering.  We're stacking it in the cargo bays for sorting and sending out for recycling or repair or disposal.  So you can take your pick -- do you want to carry scrap to the holding areas or sort it once it's there?"

"I have no preference, but you may find it more useful for me to transport the scrap.  I am able to manage items too heavy for Humans to carry."

A quick mental calculation revealed that Spock could easily double the rate at which they were clearing the rubbish from the Engineering section by freeing up antigravs and pairs of hands.  Scotty was sold.

"Good, well, let's get started.  Keenser here will show you what items need to go now, and we'll keep tagging the other things as we come across them."

Now Keenser was glaring at Scotty.

 

***

 

Scotty had to admit that Spock was the best crewman he had ever had.  Not just that he was absurdly strong and could work two shifts straight without tiring, he also made no move whatsoever to countermand any of Scotty's directives or second-guess any of his decisions.  If Scotty wanted it done, it was done, Spock's only interest seeming to be how expeditiously It could be accomplished. Once the scrap was cleared (a weeks-long task, Scotty had predicted, that took only six days), Spock devoted himself to the crude repairs that required no particular engineering expertise but did require diligence and patience, both of which he seemed to have in abundance.  Over the past week and a half, they had made so much progress in Engineering that the architects and engineers were already aboard, taking holos and measurements for the redesign of the impulse engines.  Scotty calculated that, taking into account the rate at which the hull repair was proceeding, the impulse engine refit would be complete within at most six months, perhaps four with Spock's help.

But the best-laid schemes, as the poet says, gang aft agley.

"Maybe I'm just being a stupid loon," he joked to Keenser that morning, "but I'm thinking maybe we should keep Mr. Spock on as a permanent addition to the Engineering crew.  Think he'd look fine in a red shirt, do you?"

They were in the shuttlebay, where Keenser was prying out one of the many damaged magnetic shuttle latches from the deck.  He looked up at Scotty sourly.

"Nay, you're right, red's not his color," Scotty mused.  "But you've got to admit, he makes a hell of a mechanic."

Keenser didn't give two shits either way.

The doors to the shuttlebay parted as Spock entered, spotted them, and approached, a large and obviously heavy piece of equipment in his arms.  Scotty marveled that he could carry it at all.

"Mr. Scott, I removed this plasma exhaust manifold with the intent of repairing it, but upon examination, I suspect it should be replaced instead," he said as he approached the pair.  "If you would inspect the intake assembly you will note..."

He paused. Scotty waited expectantly as Keenser ostentatiously ignored both of them in favor of the magnetic latch.

Several seconds passed with Spock frozen in mid-sentence.  Then, a loud crash, and an earsplitting scream from Keenser.

Scotty would later remark to Keenser, as he lay bandaged in Sickbay, that it was as though Spock were staring at nought but the air.  "And it wasna so much that he dropped the manifold but that he just stopped holding on to it, if you take my meaning.  Either way, that manifold was a weighty thing, and it did fair damage to the deck when he dropped it, but that was nought compared to what it did to you, for you were right at his feet when he let the damned thing go.  That manifold scored you right down your wee leg, and quite a cry you made about it too, but it was like Mr. Spock didna even hear you, you poor scamp.  Then I started in on him to watch where the hell he was treading, and I made about as much noise as I could for I was quite angry with him and his high-flown manner, but it was like a spit in the sea for all the good it did.  He just stood there, his face as blank as a piece of letter paper, like he didna even hear us, and you still yowling like a weanie.  Then he says, calmly as you please, 'I regret, Mr. Scott, that I will be unable to assist you further.'  Then he up and leaves the bay!  Just like that!  And no one's seen hide nor hair of him on the ship since.  The heartless bastard, I wouldna wish him on my worst enemy."

He downed the contents of his shot glass before refreshing their drinks.

"Och, but I'll miss having his arse in Engineering, I can tell you that."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to fill in Scotty's accent in your head, because trying to fit in all the inflections made it almost unreadable. I kept a few things in though. For some reason I hear him singing "I'll Tell Me Ma," which I know is not Scottish but Irish, to the Enterprise as he walks through her. (Best recorded version I know is by The Young Dubliners if you want to listen.) Something about the line "Here she comes as white as snow, Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes" makes me think of him thinking of her. If that makes sense.


	3. Bones

 

At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me.

I was fixing to head out for home, or what passes for home these days, the extended-stay hotel that Starfleet rents out for its distinguished (or not so much, in my case) guests so that they have a free place to stay when they're in San Francisco on official business.  Most of my shit is either still on the _Enterprise_ or buried in the pile of rubble that used to be my apartment building, so it's a good thing to have a place where all the towels and toothbrushes and food are provided for you.  I guess it's also a good thing I didn't have much shit to begin with.  And no cooking, which means I can spend more time at Medical. We have so many casualties from Khan's little stunt and so few personnel for the same reason that we need as much manpower as we can drum up; we got two dozen more medical staff coming in next week, but for now, we're still operating on a shoestring.  Too many injured, too few beds, even fewer nurses.  I pull double shifts when I can, but I don't have the energy reserves of an intern anymore, and I get so goddamned tired even after just one normal 8-hour stint when it's as busy as it has been these past two weeks. My feet hurt, my back hurts, everything fucking hurts and not all the hypos in the world are fixing that kind of pain.  And my stomach hurts too, from too much coffee, but without it, I'd be as much use as tits on a boar hog.

So it was the end of another night and the day shift had come in, and we'd had our morning conference to trade updates on our patients, who could be eased off of their pain meds and who needed an ortho consult and who didn't make it though the night.  Afterwards I stopped by to check on Jim, like I'd already done a thousand times that shift.  I'd fallen into a kind of rhythm where I'd see a patient, check on Jim, sign off on a chart, check on Jim, grab a fritter, check on Jim, you get the idea.  Day after day like that, checking and waiting and watching for some change.  Because I just didn't know what to expect, after the transfusion with Khan's serum, nobody knew what to expect.  I know Spock helped, but exactly how, I still don't know, and he wouldn't say.  All I do know is, once he broke the meld, I had two patients for a day, because Spock hit the deck in a dead faint.  Just slipped out of his chair and onto the floor without a sound.  So whatever went on in there, it must have been a sumbitch.

Anyway, I'd check on Jim every chance I got, and after I looked over his vitals, I'd shift him around on the bed so he wouldn't get pressure sores.  Left side, back, right side, back, wedging pillows around him for support.  If I had time I'd rub his arms and legs, flexing his ankles and wrists to keep the stiffness to a minimum.  We're so short of help that the nursing staff didn't have time to tend to him, or any of our patients really, with that level of attention.  Not that I blame them; they're all overworked and zombified, just like me.

So that morning he was propped up on his left side.  I was fixing to pull the pillows from behind him to roll him over onto his back, and I reached for the one behind his head first.  That's when I saw what I think I saw.  His eyes, behind their lids, moving back and forth, like he was dreaming.  

I gotta tell you, I about fell over.  You know that feeling that's like all the blood in your body is rushing to your head, and you hear your own heartbeat loud in your ears and you feel like you can't breathe?  Physiologically it's the exact opposite of what it feels like: the blood is actually leaving your head instead of rushing into it, and it's a dead giveaway that you're about ready to pass out.  So I leaned over, bending to reduce the pressure differential and encourage the cranial blood flow, and took a few deep breaths until the feeling passed.  By the time I looked back at him, the eye movement was over, if it ever happened at all.

I knew I was pretty shaky from fatigue and lack of sleep, but I also knew to trust my instincts.  If I was wrong, so what?  But if I was right...

So I grabbed my communicator to call Spock, and damn if he didn't comm me at that exact moment.  How the hell that happened, I don't know.  Damn Vulcan ESP I suppose.  Anyway, I answered, and right away he asked if there were any change in Jim's status.  It took me a minute before I could say anything because I just didn't know what the hell to tell him.  Finally I just settled for the minimum; I figured he'd appreciate brevity.

"You should get down here."

"Acknowledged."  And just like that, he broke it off.  I knew he was on his way, and I knew I wasn't going to be leaving for the swanky Starfleet hotel anytime soon. 

Instead I got a mess of towels and filled an emesis basin with warm soapy water to wash him up, something else the overworked nursing staff didn't have a whole lot of time for.  He was getting pretty scruffy, too -- several days' worth of beard growth and hair that was starting to go every which way.  I did what I could with his hair, washed his face, cleaned up around his catheter, and got him into a clean gown.  One of the volunteers helped me change the bed so he wouldn't be lying in wet sheets.  By then I was pretty rank myself, so I grabbed a quick shower, a change of scrubs, and another cup of coffee.  Came back to his room, checked his vitals again, turned my back to check the wall monitor again...and heard a sound behind me, like a rustle and a sigh.

I whipped around.  He was still out, but his head on the pillow had turned a little so that he was facing me instead of the ceiling.

So that's when I knew he was coming back, and I kind of lost it.  I had to sit down and put my head to my knees, and my hands just kept running over my eyes to wipe them, and I couldn't stop so I grabbed one of the towels and just held it to my face and coughed and howled and I wasn't even sure if I was laughing or crying but I sure as hell didn't care, not even when I heard Spock enter the room and stop just inside the doorway, like he didn't know if he should come in or get the fuck out.

 


	4. Jim (2)

 

asleep no what am i

tired no lazy just want to lie on this

_bed?_

and drift float forever neutral buoyancy 

the buoyant force on an object equals the weight of the object 

but something can't remember something i'm supposed to remember something what chase it

chase that rabbit in the back pasture can't catch it catch up fall down ow mom sam

the buoyant force on the object exceeds the weight of the object

 

_You fixin' to come back Jimmy?_

 

who bones sound like hell drinking what happened hate to break this to you space is disease and danger 

am i sick did you hypo me again shoot me stun me 

something i'm supposed to remember

am i sick am i beat up four of them one of him one of me

you don't have to push me pull me i can do it 

why can't i see can't see no sunlight dark floating dark water

weightless

the buoyant force on the object equals the weight of the object

 

_Let's get this offa you_

 

smells like ironed cotton dress shirt dress uniform time to go on parade show them the shit where's my uniform 

am i beat up am i shot am i stunned

hand on my jaw smells like soap bathtime bubble bath bathwater bathtub to see if he could swim 

the buoyant force on the object exceeds the weight of the object

water dripping cloth wringing out dripping water smells like soap washcloth scraping my face need a shave forehead eyes open no eyelids cheeks scratchy chin scratchy ears throat scratchy collarbones 

bones why

 

_That feels better, dunnit, sugar?_

 

feels better cooler yes 

why bones are you drinking are you sick

hand on the side of my head dragging combing pulling my hair feels better need a haircut captain james tiberius perfect hair take down these coordinates guess what he found something i'm supposed to remember

 

_There now, you look almost presentable_

 

hand on the side of my head thumb stroking my eyebrow two three times breath on my forehead mouth warm lips so soft 

something i'm supposed to remember

the weight of the object exceeds the buoyant force on the object

darkness silence 

bones

why

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor apologies for all the ST 2009 references. And Death Cab. And "I'll Tell Me Ma." I got on a roll.


	5. Bones and Spock

You sure got down here fast.

There was no reason for me to delay.

Well, you could have at least bothered to change.  You look like you just got off a prison work detail.

Indeed.  This is Starfleet standard issue clothing.

Well, there's nothing standard issue about a grubby tee shirt and work pants.  This is a hospital, for God's sake.  You could have at least cleaned up.

I apologize if my appearance offends you, Doctor.  I personally saw no reason to waste time changing my clothing.

I can see you didn't waste any time.  Are the transporters on board still operational?

Negative.  I came via shuttlecraft.

So the _shuttlecraft_ still work?  I thought they all got trashed.

Indeed they did.  I had requisitioned a shuttlecraft from fleet operations to remain on standby so that I could leave the ship at any moment.  

Wow, you rate, huh?

If by that statement you mean that Starfleet has been unusually accommodating with regard to my personal requests, you are correct.  Were you to make any demands of your own, I imagine you would find the administration equally eager to comply.

I didn't think to ask for anything but a place to stay, but now maybe I might.  Like every other day off and a four-course meal every night.

I can do nothing about the former, but as to the latter, I have brought some nourishment that I hope you will find acceptable.

Wait...you didn't take time to change, but you did stop for takeout?  Jesus!

What would you prefer at this moment, Doctor?  

Between a less visually offensive you and a hot meal?  All right, I guess I prefer breakfast.  Is that it out in the...what the hell, man, you brought three cargo containers of food?  What are we gonna do, camp out?

Negative.  I only brought enough food for this one meal, for now.  

So what's in the boxes?

I surmised that the captain's recovery would proceed more comfortably were he to have access to his personal effects from on board the ship.  The contents of your cabin are in one of the other containers as well. 

Wait, what...?  How'd you do all that?  It's barely been an hour since I commed you.  Or you commed me.  Hey, how _did_ you...

Several days ago I assembled all the salvageable items from your quarters as well as those of the captain and myself as part of my duty in clearing the _Enterprise_ of debris.  It was only necessary to retrieve the containers from the cargo bay and load them onto the shuttle before I myself boarded.

So you had this all planned...?

Doctor, it became immediately apparent that you would not soon be returning to the Enterprise.  Nor, obviously, was the captain.  I saw this as the most expeditious way to reunite both of you with what is left of your belongings so that you may make use of them until our next mission.

That is mighty kind of you, Mr. Spock.

Kindness had little to do with it.  All surviving personnel were directed to do likewise.  I was merely fulfilling that responsibility in your absence.

All the same, it'll be nice to have my own toothbrush.

I imagine you will also appreciate having your own Early Times Kentucky Whiskey.  

Now you're talking.  I'm surprised it didn't break.  But it's a little early for the hard stuff.  What's in the bag?

Biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, bacon, cinnamon rolls, and coffee.

Oh good Lord.  Marry me.

As attractive an offer as that is, Doctor, I regret that I must decline.

Sure, break my heart.  What are you having?

Fruit salad and tea.

To each his own, I guess.  Let's dig in.

I would appreciate hearing an update on the captain's status while we, as you say, "dig in."

Let me at that coffee first, and hand over on of them cinnamon buns.

As you wish.

 


	6. Spock

 

Over the several years that I have served with Humans, I have become attuned to the variations in tone, timbre, and inflection inherent in their vocal expressions.  For those individuals in whose company I spend relatively greater amounts of time, I have become adept at associating those variations with their physiological or emotional status.  For instance, while my mother seldom varied the  pitch of her voice, it would on occasion rise precipitously in amplitude, usually indicating an argument with my father.  Conversely, Nyota's speech maintains a relatively constant volume, but its frequency varies with a standard deviation of 573.6 Hz when she is angry.  And the average pitch of Dr. McCoy's voice predictably drops from his normal speaking frequency of 312.5 Hz to 228.2 Hz when inebriated or sexually aroused, both circumstances also inducing a curious exaggeration of his unique regional pronunciation. 

His voice, the morning I commed him after sensing the captain's first signs of regaining consciousness, averaged only 131.8 Hz in frequency and 32 decibels in amplitude, the low pitch and volume accompanied by a notable tremor and marked hoarseness as well.  It was logical to assume, based on previous knowledge of his singular work ethic, that he was acutely weakened, likely by fatigue but also possibly by illness, and needed rest and relief from his service to the captain as well as to the other injured parties at Starfleet Medical.  I also have previous knowledge, however, of his tendency to take the mere suggestion of any incapacity as justification to demonstrate its absence, thus precipitating a positive feedback loop with the potential to result in his collapse.

I considered therefore, during the brief shuttlecraft journey from spacedock to San Francisco, various methods by which to induce the doctor to rest, whether voluntarily or otherwise, but discarded the more duplicitous ones as unbecoming an officer and a friend.  I settled instead for procuring him a calorically dense meal replete with torpor-inducing lipids and simple carbohydrates along with decaffeinated coffee.  I confess to a fair amount of satisfaction that my purpose has been achieved: the doctor is, at this moment, deeply asleep on the reclining armchair in the captain's hospital room, and when he wakes, he will have no reason to suspect his reprieve resulted from anything more than an overly heavy meal and a paucity of sleep.  For indeed there is no other cause, save for the unspoken deliberateness of my action and the lack of alkaloid stimulant in the coffee (both details I withheld from him, rendering me ultimately guilty of deceit by omission but not at least by outright falsehood).

I have selfish reasons for wishing Dr. McCoy to rest, as well.

Even before I felt the stirring of the captain's consciousness, I have wished to examine the phenomenon of his mind more closely.  My experience when I melded with him was unusual, even for a Human meld, and the memory of that encounter draws my own psyche back time and again to reflect on that place of shared consciousness.  The sheer power of his thoughts was remarkable; I confess to a desire to experience that sensation of immersion again.

But entering his mind the first time was a matter of necessity.  To do so again, uninvited, would represent the worst sort of violation.  I will not meld with him again, not without his explicit permission.  I arrived at this conclusion as well on the shuttle voyage.

I will, however, investigate his presence in a more acceptable (at least to Humans) manner.

I am resolved to touch him.

Humans are so careless with their persons; their inability to form mental connections appears to spur them on to pursue all manner of physical contact.  While the pursuit of intimate relations for sexual release and reproduction is entirely logical, the more casual forms of closeness that they crave -- caressing, embracing, hand-holding, and the like -- are unnecessary and therefore unseemly in Vulcan culture.  How often I have seen arms casually slip around waists, hands brush against backs and buttocks, and wondered, to what end?  In order to maintain my relationship with Nyota, I have learned to endure her urges to casually touch me (just as she has learned to restrain herself to some extent); I have, for similar reasons, schooled myself to tolerate the captain's occasional touch on my shoulder.  But, with very few exceptions, I refrain from instigating such impulsive contact.

This contact will not be impulsive.  I have reasoned it out, justified it, judged it to be sensible.  

And I am, uncomfortably, aware that I am willfully deceiving myself by describing it in such rational terms.

So be it.  For, during the past two weeks, I have been absurdly preoccupied with the desire to contact the captain's mind again.  Packing our belongings and purging the ship of damaged equipment were welcome distractions from the constant pull that this man's essence exerts on me, even in the depths of his slumber.  It has disturbed my rest, my own sleep interrupted, my meditative practice insufficient to banish the craving.  Were he to remain unconscious for much longer, I fear I would lose my sanity from the very intensity of that unanswered pull.  

So I will answer.  There is no other logical option.

I seat myself next to his bed and observe.  Shortly after ingesting his soporific breakfast, Dr. McCoy repositioned him, his professional expertise evident in the practiced movements of his hands, each touch gentle yet purposeful as he bolstered him onto his right side. 

His right hand is facing upward, open and defenseless, the palm exposed, the fingers slightly curled inward.  His hand, extended across the bed, toward me. 

The doctor sleeps on, his mouth slightly open as he snores, oblivious.

I extend my own hand and place my index and middle fingers on that open palm.  A daring expression in Vulcan society, reserved only for the very closest of bonds.  But for Humans, an almost trivial gesture.  Surely it is no intrusion.

Trivial, for most Humans.  But not for me, and, evidently, not for him. 

I feel his mind erupt in an irresistible wave of light and warmth at my touch.  Little wonder I felt such tenacity in the gravitation of my mind to his; his subconscious is more powerful than I could have imagined.

He recognizes my touch, my presence, at that deep level below awareness, and I feel his joy, an enchanting luminosity that demands a reciprocal response to its glow.  Demands and indeed, if I am not once again to lie by omission, engenders a reciprocal response within me.

And something else -- a ripple on the surface of his conscious mind.

His hand constricts weakly around my fingers, the movement slight but discernible.

I know I must wake the doctor, must tell him of this development without delay.  He would not forgive me otherwise.

But I linger, luxuriating in the temporary appeasement of the hunger I have suffered for days, as I move my fingers to circle his palm, then lower to stroke the vulnerable medial surface of his wrist, concurrently sensing his burning incandescence and the cool, languorous beat of his pulse.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous meld Spock is referring to here is not the one his older self shared with Jim on Delta Vega but the one that they engaged in during the transfusion with Khan's serum in "Compeer."


	7. Bones (2)

 

You know you're getting old when the first thing you think about as you're waking up from an afternoon nap is, _Goddamn my ass hurts._  Used to be I could sleep in whatever location, whatever position I needed to.  One time during my residency I grabbed half an hour of shuteye lying on a laundry pile; another time, I found an empty room in the ward I was rotating on and napped just leaning up against the wall, propped up by the restroom door frame.  My aching back and ass are telling me those days are over.   _Welcome to impending middle age, son_ , they tell me, _how you like that?_

And I've been getting that message from other body parts, too -- my eyes are singing the same song.  I've noticed that I can't shift my focus as easily as I used to, that I have to stand farther away from the wall monitor to see the readings, hold PADDs and charts farther away from my face so what I'm trying to read doesn't look doubled and my ocular ciliary muscles don't scream.  

But my distance vision is fine.  Almost perfect for a Human, in fact. So when I woke up in the recliner, back stiff and ass sore, and saw Spock holding Jim's hand, I was pretty sure I wasn't seeing things.  

I blinked, hard, a few times.  And just like that, he wasn't.  I didn't hear or see him move across the room, but a second later, Instead of being seated at Jim's bedside, he was standing next to the recliner looking down at me with that Vulcan look that says, _Hey, dumbass, time to get it in gear_.  

I guess I'd been dreaming, after all.

"Doctor, the captain has shown signs of awakening.  If you would, kindly assess his current condition."

Didn't have to tell me twice.  I was out of that chair in a second.  "How long was I asleep?"

"Three hours, sixteen minutes, and 27 seconds.  It is currently 1249 hours."

"Fuck."  Joints popped as I made it over to the biobed and checked the readings.  "Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

"There was nothing more compelling for you to concern yourself with.  The captain's physical status remained unchanged, save for an increase in his vital signs and a slight movement of the fingers of his right hand, which I am reporting to you now."

I nodded.  Logical as always, damnit.  "Respiration and heart rate are up, all right.  Let's turn him on his back and see if we can get him to respond."       I cranked the head of the biobed up slightly and pushed Jim onto his back while Spock pulled the pillows out from behind him. Jim's body still felt limp, the muscles slack with atony.  I tried not to get my hopes up as I sat down next to the bed; Spock remained standing on the other side.

"Jim.  Are you...can you hear me?  If you can, open your eyes."  Damn, my voice sounded rough.  I cleared my throat and tried again, my hand rising to touch his forehead, to comb through his hair with my fingers.

"Jim, please.  Try to open your eyes.  Look at me, please."  My fingers tugging at his hair, like they could draw him out, pull him into wakefulness.

Nothing.  I looked up at Spock.  "Are you sure?  That you saw..."

"I am sure."  Not one bit of hesitation.

"Jim.  I'm here.  Spock is here.  We want you to open your eyes, let us know you're okay."

Something socked me in the chest when I saw it, a fractional lowering of his brows, a tiny frown.  I petted that frown encouragingly, smoothing the skin with my thumb.

"That's it, come on, wake up.  Look at me."

The frown deepened as his eyes opened, not a lot, but enough that I could see a glint.  His mouth moved, his voice wispy and unsteady but distinct.

"Bo..."

I felt my face break into a huge-ass grin.  

"Yeah, kid, yeah it's me." 

His eyes shifted toward the other side of the bed.  "Poh...?"

"I am here as well, Captain."  Spock tried to sound cool, but his voice hitched slightly on the "well."  My cheeks were cramping from smiling so hard.

"Kay."  And just like that, he was out again, his eyelids closing as the frown relaxed.

"He knew us."  I thought I would bust a gut from sheer joy.  "He knew us, he knew who we were."

"Indeed."  

"Sweet baby Jesus," I breathed, and I let my head drop to rest on his shoulder, my hand still clinging to his hair.  A moment later, I heard Spock come around the bed to stand next to me.  I didn't trust myself to look up. 

I felt a firm but gentle squeeze, his hand on my shoulder, and I kind of lost it again, so I pushed my eyes against Jim's gown for a few minutes until I could stand up to update his chart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Not quite like the movies. At this point they all look gross because Jim is all bedridden scruff, Spock is all Engineering filth, and Bones is just a jittery pile of nerves. So much for clean uniforms and perfect hair. HA! I stand by my reality.


	8. Nyota

 

To say it's challenging being in a relationship with a Vulcan is a huge understatement.  Once you get past that whole no-emotion thing, which is understandably difficult for most people to get past, you run into the no-casual-touching thing, the no-idle-conversation thing, and the absolute worst, the whole you-are-illogical thing.  It's really not surprising that there have been so few Vulcan-Human pairings throughout the 200 years our species have known each other.

But there is one huge advantage in dating a Vulcan over a Human -- no drama.  They say what they mean, no coyness or subterfuge.  If those pants make your ass look huge, they'll tell you (if you ask, which you probably shouldn't unless you _really_  want to know).  If they don't want to go see your parents next weekend, they'll tell you.  They will never pick a fight with you over where to go for dinner or whether you stared at some other guy's pecs for 0.12 nanoseconds. What you see is what you get, so you always know where you stand.  (As to whether that matches up with where you _want_  to stand is another story.)

People who are what my friend Isabel calls _"telefonica"_  can get their feelings hurt pretty badly when their Vulcan friends don't call.  Because part of the no-idle-conversation thing is that they don't call you unless it's urgent; conversely, they don't expect you to call unless it's urgent.  The upside is, you will never waste hours playing comm tag with your Vulcan boyfriend. The downside is, if you're feeling needy and want to chat, you shouldn't comm your Vulcan boyfriend unless you want to get hit with the you-are-illogical thing.  Better to invest in a romantic vid and a pint of ice cream, one spoon (but don't forget _not_ to ask if your ass looks huge later).

Which is why I was worried.  I had already commed Spock twice today to confirm our plans for tonight, and he didn't respond.  Then I commed Scotty, who told me that Spock had almost killed Keenser this morning and then fled the ship.  So I was more than a little worried by the time I finally got a hold of Leonard, who sounded surprised that I didn't know.  

"Spock's right here, darlin', he's been here all day."

Oh, really.   _All day_.  Thanks for letting me know, lover.

The problem is, there is nothing I can rationally blame him for.  Leonard told me that Jim was starting to wake up, and that he commed Spock to tell him.  So naturally Spock's first concern would have been to be there for him.  I guess it bothers me that his first concern wasn't informing me of his change in plans.  It bothers me that he thought it would be okay for me to not know where he was. 

It bothers me more that he might not have thought about me at all.

And it's not like I don't know how much he cares about Jim, but it's like he forgets that I care about him too.  I've known Jim for longer, been his classmate at the Academy, shared the same first mission and every mission since then.  Why wouldn't Spock tell me?  Why keep that information to himself?

Then I remind myself that Vulcans don't lie and only keep secrets when there's no reason to divulge information.  And Spock would have known that I would very badly have wanted any news of Jim's recovery.  So, logically, there must have been a reason not to tell me.

Perhaps it's because Leonard told him not to spread the word, out of some doctor-patient confidentiality thing.  Maybe he's too weak to have visitors.  Maybe his mind is gone, after all.  Maybe...maybe he took a turn for the worse, maybe even died.  The fact that I don't know makes it a lot easier for me to spin the worst-case scenarios out into infinity.  But unless Spock informs me otherwise, I have no reason not to.

So I go on spinning, and spinning, and driving myself slowly insane with worry, fear, and, yes, anger.

Because I got over the no-emotion thing, the no-casual-touching thing, and the rest.  But this, this secrecy, it feels deliberate. We've had tickets to the SFO for months and he knows how much I've been looking forward to seeing the 22nd century adaptation of _Don Giovanni_ tonight.  And I've spent all day getting exfoliated, waxed, polished, and coiffed for the occasion, spent hours practicing how I'm going to tell him my news.  And then he goes and ignores my comms.  And, from what Leonard said, he's not making any plans to leave the hospital any time soon.  So I guess those pricey tickets go down the drain, my buffed bod goes unseen and unappreciated, and my news has to wait at least another day.

Bullshit.  That is just _bullshit_.

I'm debating just going to the opera house by myself.  Who knows, maybe there will be some cute guy with awesome pecs sitting next to the empty seat next to me.  Maybe he'll slide on over and start up a conversation, or maybe I will.  Maybe we'll find out how much we have in common, how much we both love opera and seafood and Victorian poetry.  Maybe we'll end up taking a walk together by the bay, just to enjoy the lights and the crowds and the cool night breeze.  Maybe we'll end up sharing a kiss, maybe more.  Maybe Spock will comm me while I'm fucking him, and maybe I'll ignore it.  Maybe that will teach him not to ditch his hot girlfriend on a date night.  

But I know it won't work.  He'll just throw logic at me, explaining in that patronizing tone I can't stand how there was no way to predict when the captain would wake up and that the one takes precedence over the other, that the resumption of a life takes precedence over a night at the opera.

That he takes precedence over me.

_Bullshit_.  

I'm comming Isabel to ask her if she'd like two tickets to _Don GIovanni_.  Then I'm going on over to the hospital -- my evening is ruined anyway.  They let him in, they can let me in.  I've got credentials, contacts, as much connection to the captain as Spock does, even more.  If Jim  _is_ dead, or a vegetable, or awake and aware, it's just as much my right to know as it is his.  

I refuse to be kept in the dark.

 


	9. Jim (3)

  


Bones. 

Spock? 

Okay...

  


Ow, too bright, turn that light off. 

Spock? 

Hey, man...

 

Thirsty.  Thanks.

Bones?   

Damn you look like hell. 

Where are we...

 

This can't be Sickbay. 

Why won't my hand move? 

Ohhh, that feels good feels wonderful, thanks Spock. 

What time is it?  

Something I'm supposed to remember...

 

Mmm, something smells great.  Perfume. 

Hey baby. 

You looking so fine I'm serious. 

Wanna get out of here go grab a drink? 

Well, you just let me know.  I can wait.

Just a little tired.

 

What the hell...oh, okay. 

Yeah, I guess I need that. 

God that feels great. 

That's so much better, thank you guys.

Damn girl you look good.  You staying all night? 

Here I'll slide over, you just come on in here with me, baby. 

Shut up Bones you cockblock, I'm making my move. 

Hey man, you snooze, you lose.  What can I say. 

Better luck next time my friend. 

I'm gonna get some sleep now.

 

Spock? 

I remember...


	10. Bones (3)

 

My daddy had a saying for what just walked in the door to Jim's room:  "That there's a lotta woman."  

And so she was.  Dressed for an evening out, like she just stepped out of a Union Square storefront, she radiated that proud imperiousness that let you know she'd kill you for looking at her wrong. I was afraid I'd die if I looked at her right.  Son, that girl was loaded for bear. Hot damn.  

I guess Spock must have commed her, but even he looked a little surprised at her entrance.  

Her eyes swept around the room, raking right through me and Spock like we didn't matter, until they came to rest on Jim.  Something in her face changed, I don't know what exactly, but the imperiousness shifted into something not as fierce but just as forceful.  She took off her coat, tossing it and her handbag onto the foot of the bed as she walked up to him, then slid her hand behind his head to adjust it on the pillow, tilting it slightly so that he faced her.

"Jim," she said, or stated really, demanding his attention, his awareness.

He was still pretty out of it, rising up into consciousness only periodically, but that demand made his eyes flutter open.  

"Ay, bay," he mumbled.    

"Hey yourself," she grinned, and if she looked intimidating when she was fierce, she was lethal when she smiled.  

Jim's eyes flickered as he looked her up and down.

"You look so fye I seeus."  

I couldn't quite figure out what he was trying to say; the disfluency was improving each time he awoke, but his muscles were still weak from disuse. Didn't seem like she was having any trouble understanding him, though.  

"Yeah, I dressed up for you."  

"Wanna get outta hee go gab a dih?"  

Typical Kirk. Even I could understand him then, I'd heard it from him a million times.    

Her other hand lifted to tip his chin up as she kissed him fully on the mouth, the hottest, sweetest kiss I’ve ever seen. I sneaked a look over at Spock but got nothing from him.  

"Sorry, baby, not right now. I've got other plans for you."  

He took it in stride. "Ju leh me know, I cah way."  

She stroked his cheek, her eyes warm on his. "Rest for now. I'm not going anywhere, I'll take care of you."  

"I juh a lihuh tied..."  

He passed out again, and she laid his head back down, then turned to me to shoo me out with a wave of one graceful hand.  "Go on, Leonard, tend to your other patients.  I've got this one.  And Spock, you need a shower."  

With that she dismissed us, and even though my shift didn't start for another half hour, I knew better than to stay.    

***    

When I made it back a couple of hours later, Spock was gone, and Nyota was rubbing Jim's feet and legs with lotion. She'd also managed to shave him and wash his hair, wetting the front of her dress in the process.  

"Help me change his sheets. I got them pretty soaked."    

We rolled him from side to side on the bed to replace the wet sheets and his gown too. Then we pushed him onto his stomach so she could reach his back to rub it, her hands expertly manipulating his shoulders and lats. She worked her way down to the small of his back, then unselfconsciously began massaging each of his ass cheeks.  Jim was still half out of it, eyes closed and mouth slack but occasionally mumbling endearments and groaning with appreciation.    

"I didn't know you were so capable in patient care. If I'd known, I might have recruited you for Sickbay duty."  

She smiled as she pushed a strand of hair behind one ear, then resumed her attentions to Jim's ass. "My earliest memory is helping take care of my great-grandparents. I've had a lot of practical experience."

I smiled.  "You might be sorry you let me know that."

She looked me right in the eye. "Depends on who needs me."  

Um.  

She tied his gown closed and wiped her hands down the sides of her dress. Jim's eyes opened as we rolled him over onto his side, and for the first time, he moved his hand, just a small patting motion on the bed beside him.  

"You stayin ah nigh?"  

She kicked off her high heels and climbed up onto the bed next to him, fitting her legs behind his knees as she spooned him, her arm wrapping around his waist to pull him toward her.  

"Should I hang a tie on the door, or are you all right letting Spock see you two like this?"  

Jim mumbled something incomprehensible while Nyota nuzzled his neck. ""First of all, it's hang a _bra_ on the door. Second, Spock can fucking deal with it." 

I turned the lights down to 20% and pulled the door closed behind me as I heard her say, "Mmm, baby, you sure do smell a whole lot better."

 


	11. Spock (2)

 

I have noticed that Humans, whether consciously or not, devise a seemingly endless number of ways to subvert their own intentions.  This space I currently inhabit, for example, the hospital chapel, is designed to be a place of  retreat and reflection, even entreaty for those whose spiritual practices involve deities.  Yet the arrangements of scented flowers, the bank of candles (many of them illuminated) off to one side, and the depictions of various historical scenes rendered in segments of colored glass all invite the mind to wander, to focus on the appearance of the external surroundings rather than on the individual's own thoughts.  Similarly, the spartan seating, while initially intended perhaps to disallow diversion from the mind's contemplation, shortly becomes a source of discomfort, and therefore distraction, obviating the very effect it was intended to inspire.  I do not understand how Humans, with their poor mental control, can ever hope to achieve the enlightenment or peace they frequently seek when in such surroundings.  

But, as this space is currently unoccupied save for myself, it is for the moment an appropriate location for me to attempt to engage in my meditative practice.  For I have much to ponder.

Today has been, for the most part, a very gratifying one.  I was privileged to be made aware of the awakening of the captain's mind and to be present during his efforts toward achieving consciousness.  The doctor, contrary to his normal pattern of behavior, has been exceptionally cooperative and even kind toward me, his demeanor suggesting gratitude at my efforts to support the captain's recovery.  The captain's own appreciation of my efforts at nursing, although not glibly expressed, was unmistakable.  Thus I have had what I would largely consider a very satisfactory day.

Were it not for the fact that I retained no recollection whatsoever of the evening plans I had made with Nyota several weeks past, and in fact did not remember those plans until a few moments after she arrived in the captain's room, it would have been an excellent day.  However, my disappointment relates only to my failure to remember an outing for which she had obviously spent some time preparing.  I am not sorry to have spent that time as I did rather than as we had planned, but I will be certain to apologize for my neglect nonetheless.

As I reflect on the nature of that apology, I find that I can identify another element of the day's events that I would not consider to be ideal.  Nyota's actions upon arriving at the hospital are causing me some small amount of concern.  She seemed determined to focus all her attention on the captain to the exclusion of myself; I cannot guess whether she is angry at me for forgetting about our plans or whether she is simply too absorbed in assisting with the captain's care to spare me any consideration.  I will defer judgment on that point until I can obtain more information from her.  I did think it curious, however, that she displayed more affection toward him than I would have thought appropriate between a superior and a subordinate.

I admit that her behavior has also affected me in a rather unpredictable manner.   I feel a certain unease, I might even term it anxiety, deep in the recesses of my mind.  Small, but discernible.   I can sense it but cannot rationalize it, and meditation has thus far been ineffective in inducing its dissipation. Examination reveals only that it does not lessen with time, and although it has not increased, it is still an irritant, like having a miniscule splinter in one's hand and being unable to locate it to remove it.  All I can deduce about the sensation is that it began when Nyota kissed the captain and has not abated since that event.

Curious.  I will continue to monitor this response.

I turn my mind away from Nyota toward the captain.  Another sensation that does not abate and in fact grows stronger as time passes, the awareness that I do not wish to be in this hall of distractions where I am of no use.  I have calculated that, since my arrival this morning, I have spent only 8.2% of the intervening time in active service to the captain: providing water, repositioning him, smoothing his sheets, and the like, the remainder of the day having been occupied merely by watching him and waiting for his next interlude of consciousness.  I cannot rationally justify the expenditure of so much time toward doing so little.  And yet, now that I am theoretically engaged in restful meditation, an activity that I can easily justify, I find myself impatient to resume the largely prodigal task of sitting by his side and awaiting his awakenings.  

Impatience.  Another irritation, but this one much more perceptible than that of a tiny splinter.  Over the past two weeks, as I waited for the touch of his mind against mine, I occupied myself with readying his ship for his return.  Now that the contact has been established, I can conceive of no desirable activity with which to occupy myself that removes me from him.  Had Nyota not arrived and commanded me to leave, I should never have done so.

For while the majority of my time today was spent in inactivity, I cannot deny the exceptional satisfaction I experienced merely by being in his presence and available to him as the need arose.  I found myself observing him even when there was nothing conspicuous to observe, relishing the anticipation of seeing his eyes open and focus on me, of hearing his voice, physically distorted but clearly apprehended in my mind.  I refrained from further physical contact while in the doctor's presence, but I find myself relishing the anticipation of that event as well.  

I open my eyes and look about this chamber, at its colors and flickering lights, inhaling the scent of its flowers and candles, distractions all of them to its main purpose.  I resolve to end this contemplation of the distractions I am encountering that keep me from mine.

 


	12. Jim (4)

 

 

I'm moving again, and it feels great, like I've been motionless for too long and need to get up and stretch, run, fly through the ship.  I feel so strong, stronger than I've ever been, my legs so powerful and my lungs bottomless.  And I can see everyone clearly, now, and they can see me, everyone turns to me to wave and smile as I fly by, and it feels fucking great as I run past sickbay to shout at Bones and his hypos, the mess hall where Chekov is grabbing a snack, fly up the turbolift shaft to my quarters and wave at Carol in the corridor, past the rec room where Darwin and Sulu are battling each other in a virtual duel, and on to Engineering...

No, I don't want to go there.  I don't know why.  I try to change direction, try to stop, no, not there.

But I can't control my own body; it takes me there anyway, and now I'm not running anymore but walking, slowly.   And dread is starting to grow in my gut, curling in my stomach and crawling up my throat as I cross the elevated walkway and move down the stairs, arriving at the warp core.  And there's Scotty holding Keenser by the hand, his other arm wrapped around Uhura, and she's crying quietly into his shoulder as he looks stonily into the core access port. 

I try to stop my feet but can't.  They take me up to the transparent door so I can see what's on the other side.

It's Spock, and he's dying.  He's lying against the entry, his skin mottled with green splotches, crinkled and peeling from the gamma radiation, his eyes open but unseeing as his retinas degrade.  I tap on the glass and his head turns, slowly, to face me as I drop to my knees.

_You saved the ship_ , I tell him, and he nods weakly in understanding, then places his hand on the glass, palm outward toward me.  I do the same, trying to reach him but knowing I can't, trying to show him but knowing he can't see.  He relaxes and his eyes close as they start to bleed, green fluid oozing from them and sliding down his cracked cheeks.

The dread turns to horror, and I try to scream, but all that comes out is a trembling whimper, and I pound on the glass to try to break through, but Scotty says from behind me, _He's dead already._  

And the horror bleeds away, leaving my mind like the ebbing of a tide, leaving behind it emptiness, nothing.

I feel nothing.

_I am nothing_.

Then for a dizzying moment I am both of us, I see through the glass in both directions, looking at him lying inside and looking out at him from the inside as I feel my life draining from me, and I can't tell who is who, where I end and where he begins, who is living and who is dying.  And then we settle into ourselves, I in the core and he outside, the shocked emptiness on his face and not mine, the death in my eyes and not his. 

It hurts me to see him suffer, and I try to tell him 

_it's all right_

_I chose this_

_please_

_I don't want to leave you_

_I'm sorry_

but I can't speak and he can't hear me.  And soon I can't see anymore, and I know it's time.

And I feel myself smile as I let go, because I know, of those two possible outcomes, this is the better one.

 


	13. Spock (3)

 

Nyota is sleeping with him.

They are asleep in his bed,

Sleeping together.

 

His gown has slipped, his flank is exposed,

Her hand rests on the bare skin of his hip.

She is touching him;

My mate and another are touching.

 

Her dark hand is slender, lovely,

Her fingers delicate and soft.

His skin under her hand gleams white in the dimness,

Flawless.

 

And in the dark spaces of my mind I feel a spark ignite,

Feel the heat of its smoldering glow,

Smell the smoke of its flame.

 

He is dreaming,

His eyes moving rapidly from side to side,

His brow creasing in a frown,

His mouth opening as if to cry out...

 

I stand by his bed and hear him exhale,

A small sound, like the bleat of a lamb,

Soft and tremulous.  

 

I lay my hand on his forehead.

His face relaxes;

He smiles slightly as his eyes open

To find me watching.

 

He says,

_I remember._

 

And in the dark spaces of my mind

I feel the spark grow into a fire,

And I bask in the heat of its eager flare,

Reveling in the sweet vapor of its flame.

 


	14. Bones (4)

 

About the last thing I expected to see, when I got back to Jim's room after my shift was over, was the kind of scene you find in a college dorm suite on a Saturday morning.  People lying everywhere, some of them naked, all of them passed out, the sour smell of carpeting soaked in equal parts beer and vomit hitting you in the face like a slap.  Except for the carpet stink, that pretty much described Jim's room.

He himself was still on the biobed, turned on the same side as when I left last night, but his gown was twisted almost all the way off, held in place only by the I.V. in his arm and exposing everything from his chest on down.  Nyota was snuggled tightly up behind him and snoring lightly into his hair, her hips pushed right up against his naked ass, her hand groping (or so it looked to me) for his dick, her fingers entwined instead in his pubic hair.  And Spock was laid out on the recliner, shirtless, one arm hanging down toward the floor, his head turned to one side, and God help me, he was drooling.   _Drooling_.

_Goddamn._

I let them snooze for a few more minutes, enjoying the feeling of being the only conscious, sane person in the room, before crossing over to where Spock was passed out in the chair.  I've never seen Spock sleep before, and I didn't know the best way to wake him up; I finally settled for putting my hand on his bare shoulder and squeezing lightly.  He startled me by jerking up to a half-sitting position in the chair as his eyes flew open, and it was the damndest thing, because I could  _see_ him trying to put himself back together, like he was a puzzle with the pieces scattered all over, and he had to pick up each one and fit it back into the whole of himself.  

"Spock, what the fuck went on here?"

He looked around the room in mild confusion, then froze as he caught sight of Jim and Nyota nestled in the bed.  Whatever the expression on his face, it wasn't confusion anymore.

I felt a little guilty waking him up first; I could have gotten Nyota up before him, to make sure he wouldn't see them together like that first thing in the morning.  But the hell with it.  If I had to look at them, why shouldn't he?

He looked around for his t-shirt, found it, and pulled it on, all without answering my question.

'What is the captain's status?"

"I dunno yet, I haven't checked him out."  I moved over to the biobed to look at the readings.  "Let's wake him up and find out."

Nyota stretched and opened her eyes at the sound of my voice.  "Hey Leonard," she smiled as she sat up, "you get any sleep last night?"  By the time she finished her sentence, her hand was back in her own lap.

"No, darlin', unlike you young 'uns, I actually had to work last night."  I pulled JIm's gown down to cover him, then pulled the sheet up over his legs.  "Jim, can you hear me?"

"Uh-huh."  Eyes still closed, but clearly he heard and understood and was able to respond.  Nyota smiled at me again as she slid off the bed and smoothed her dress, all in a single, fluid motion.

"Well, then, wake up, son.  You just spent the night with a gorgeous woman, the least you can do is tell her goodbye."

"Wha...?"  Jim opened his eyes and struggled to roll over, his hand reaching clumsily for her across the sheets.  "Oh, baby, you leaving already?"

"Yes, lover, I have to head on home," she teased.  "But I"ll be back later this afternoon."

"Shit, Bones, crank me up," he complained, and I felt my cheeks start to cramp again, I was grinning so broadly.  The "shit" sounded more like "sit," but even so, his speech was remarkably clearer than the other day.

I could feel Nyota's eyes on me, then Jim, as I reached out my hand to grasp his.  He met it partway with his own, his grip weak but not feeble, and I pulled him to a sitting position while she raised the head of the biobed and fluffed his pillow.  Together we rolled him so he could lie back squarely on his back.  He caught Spock's gaze across the room and smiled just as she dropped a kiss on his cheek. 

He flushed, the color rising up his neck, and Nyota laughed.  "I didn't think you knew _how_ to blush."

"Stick around and see what else I know how to do," he countered, but his cheeks reddened even more, those ridiculous eyes like hot stars in a field of pink.

She laughed again as she pulled on her shoes.  "Save it for later.  I have to go clean up and do some shopping, and then I'll be back.  Be a good boy and do what your doctor tells you."  She picked up her coat and handbag and turned to Spock.  "Comm me when you can and we'll reschedule."

He nodded.  He still hadn't spoken a word to her.

She turned to me.  "Walk me out?"

 

***

 

It was a beautiful morning, sunny and breezy, chilly but with the promise of a warmer afternoon to come.  She tightened her coat around her and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes as we stood on the steps heading down to the street.

"So, how long have you been in love with him?"

A straight shooter, that one.  I bent my arm and offered it to her, and she took it, slipping her hand under my elbow to rest lightly on my forearm as we started down the stairs together.  

"Pretty much forever, I guess," I said.  "Since I met him, anyway."

Out of my peripheral vision, I could see her nod.  "He cares about you too."

"I know, but not that way.  I'm okay with it though."

"You are."  A question posed as a statement.  I nodded back.

"Yeah, I am, and I don't want him to find out."

We reached the bottom of the steps, and she turned toward me, her hand still on my elbow.  Her eyes, warm and exquisite, searched my face.  I didn't mind. 

"You're very special, Leonard," she said finally, and I saw in the droop of her lips that she wasn't just feeling sorry for me, that she had her own heartbreak to contend with. 

"What about you?  Everything okay with Spock?"

"He's in the doghouse, that's all.  We're fine."

For a straight shooter, she sure knew how to duck and swerve.  I let it go and pulled her into my arms, my chin against her hair as we embraced on the sidewalk.

"You take care.  I'll see you later this afternoon."

I watched her go, those splendid legs peeping out from beneath her coat, confident and sure as she walked away in her high heels.  It didn't occur to me until I turned around to go back to Medical that she'd assumed I'd still be there when she returned, that I wouldn't go back to the hotel and get some sleep or grab a bite to eat, and I shook my head and laughed to myself when I realized she was right.

 


	15. Jim (5)

 

God, I am so fucking tired.     I'd honestly sooner chop a cord of wood than keep my eyes open right now, but I want to take stock of the situation before I fall asleep again.  

Report, Mr. Kirk.

Location: a biobed, in a hospital, Starfleet Medical from the insignia on the wall monitor.     Physical status: acceptable.  I can hear and see pretty well, no obvious pain anywhere.  I can feel most of my body but can't move much, arms working better than legs, can kind of talk and swallow, breathing seems okay.  I.V. in my right arm, I can read the label: 5% dextrose, yum.

Mental status: okay, I think.  A little fuzzy, like I'm not exactly sure why I'm here or how I got here, but it's like that knowledge exists somewhere in a box in my head that I just haven't figured out how to open yet.  I feel like if I wait long enough, it will come to me.  

And, I have to piss like a racehorse.  Didn't want to do that with Uhura in the room, but now that it's just me and Spock, I think he'll be okay with it.  

Oh, wait.  Catheter.  Shit.  No pissing today unless Bones gets back and takes it out for me.  Can't walk to the head anyway, can't even really move my feet.  Check that -- I can wiggle my toes a little.

Spock's heading over to me.  Good.  He knows what's going on.  Move my head--okay, move it better than that--there, I can see him now, he's sitting down next to me.  Damnit, moved my head too far, it's starting to slide down, good, he's there to prop it back up again.  Thanks. 

Time to ask.  Not sure I want to know the answers, though.

"I dreamed I died."

He nods.  He knows.  

So my dream wasn't a dream.

"In the warp core?"

Another nod.  Okay, that's no surprise.  What I can't comprehend is...I was really...

"I was really dead?

Nod. 

"So how..."

Wait, I remember, he told me this already, when we were...wait, we were...

He nods again, but I'm pretty sure I didn't finish that sentence, so how did he know...?

I have to close my eyes for a moment.  It's a little overwhelming.

I open them and he's still there.  Good.  It's better when he's there, his eyes on me intense but not unsettling.  They're beautiful, really, especially when he smiles like that.  I love that smile, the one he thinks I can't see.

His eyes smile, too, with a bit of sadness as they start to fill with tears.

But the tears aren't tears, they're green, they're his blood.

And I've seen this, I've seen this before,

_Oh God his eyes are swimming in blood_

his face starts to crumple, his skin burning from the radiation, burning and cracking, and he's trying to tell me something but he can't speak,

_blood spilling out of his mouth and eyes_

and I'm trying to reach out to stop the bleeding but my arms won't move, my hands just flop uselessly on the bed,

_I can't help him_

and I try to scream for Bones but it's only wheezing, airless and powerless because I can't breathe, can't turn my head away as I watch him dying.

_James._

He is shaking me by the arms, shaking me awake so I can see that he is whole, unhurt, and now I can breathe and scream, so I do.

He pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me as I hitch loud gasps into his chest.  And I can't stop but I don't care because I'm alive and he's alive, and I don't know how long that will last, how long it will be until one of us dies again.

 


	16. Spock (4)

 

For a Vulcan, the mind is a whole entity, integrated with the body but existing as an entirety on its own, its various roles and functions seamlessly connected.  We can control our autonomic functions easily, slow or raise our heart rates at will, increase or lower our blood pressure and respiration with merely a thought.  A few incidents survive in our historical records of certain ascetics and scholars committing suicide by stopping their hearts with their minds, although admittedly these are extreme examples.  Similarly, we an access our subconscious mind almost as easily as we can our consciousness, albeit with the proper preparation and meditation.  The subconscious for us is not a dark, mysterious stratum the way it is for Humans; it is merely a place where submerged thoughts reside until we intentionally access them.

For a Human, the mind is more like a series of compartments, each depending on the others but without any awareness that the others exist.  Thus a Human's consciousness is unaware of its subconscious, which itself is equally unaware of its autonomic functions.  In addition, they have the nuisance of a limbic system, which, I am pleased to note, Vulcans have managed to completely subvert for millennia, but which for Humans remains a troublesome source of illogic of the worst sort.

I have heretofore believed that the Human mind is inferior, uneducated as it is in its own ways.  How ridiculous for one's brain to comprise effectively segregated spaces, for one not to have awareness of and control over all the chambers therein.

But at this moment, I wish the captain's mind to return to that state of happy incognizance.  For it appears to me that it is currently unable to distinguish its subconscious thoughts from those of its conscious realm, resulting in episodes of acute distress.

I cannot help but think that this is the result of my meld with him.  That I am responsible for his waking horror.  Even now, as he lies quiescent, I can feel his subconscious dread bleeding over into his consciousness, his helplessness to control it the way a Vulcan could, and I fear that my contact allowed this, the thinning of those barriers upon which the Human mind depends for its sanity.

I try to assist him.  I hold him, my arms around his upper body, my chin resting on his hair.  I send him tranquil thoughts that he may not be able to sense but that I offer anyway in the hope that they may be effectual.  I murmur reassurances to him, like those my mother used to comfort me when my childish mind was similarly disturbed by dark dreams.

I do not know what else to do.  

Were I a man of the pre-Surak era, I would fight.  Anything that distressed him, I would drive away with the strength of my arm and the might of my blade.  My anger alone would be sufficient to disperse his demons; they would cower at my rage and flee from the roar of my word and the fearsome specter of my vengeance.  His enemies would fall, shrieking in agony, staining the red sand with their blood.  I would offer him their hearts, removed fresh and still beating from their sides as they fell in submission to me.  And my reward would be his recognition of my worth, his acquiescence to my claim.

I am not a warrior.  Nonetheless, my heart races and my arms tighten around him as I envision such a reality, one in which I am not impotent against that which would threaten his equanimity, rather one in which he is mine to protect and woo and win.

 


	17. Nyota (2)

 

It's like looking at a stranger in the mirror.

Outwardly, I look rumpled from sleep, a little haggard from too little of it, eyes too red and the circles under them too dark and puffy.  Inwardly, it's the opposite: I feel calm, composed, even serene.  Considering all the events of the past few weeks, I think I should be a serious mess, but, for the first time in months, I feel purposeful.

It's been months since I first knew my relationship with Spock was threatened.  I knew it the minute that brat Kirk beat his _Kobayashi Maru_ test.  I knew it when Spock had him bent backward over the helm console, bent on choking the brattiness, along with the life, out of his skinny ass.  I knew it the first time they stood, gazing out the front viewscreen side by side, their backs to me, planning strategies, together; when Kirk lay on the ground on Kronos, Spock standing guard over him like a sentinel; when he rushed past me on the way to Engineering that last day on the ghost of the _Enterprise_.  By the time Kirk died, with Spock weeping on his knees in front of him, I knew my own link with him was dying too.  And I cried for Jim, for the life extinguished too soon, but also for myself, for the love I feared was no longer mine but his.

The problem is, Spock doesn't know.

What is so obvious to me flies completely over his head.  He doesn't understand that you only get murderously angry with the people you care the most about.  He doesn't get that you don't blindly follow someone unless you have absolute trust in that person, and you don't absolutely trust someone without loving them too.  He will stand on his head to rationalize every action, every word, every feeling that he claims is not a feeling.  He doesn't get that his every impulse is driven by wanting to please or protect Jim Kirk.  

And I can't tolerate that anymore.  It's been bad enough watching my man dance to another's tune, whether he knows he's doing it or not, one of two halves of a whole with no room for me.  But this secrecy, his not being open with me as to where he was or what he was doing, is the final straw.  Because there's only two things that a man will hide from you at all cost: the lover he had before you, and the one he'll have after you.

If we're going down, we're going down right now; I can't sit around any longer waiting for Spock to get in touch with his inner feelings.  I have to push the issue because there are decisions that need to be made, and they can't wait either.

So I issued the challenge, yesterday, when I kissed Jim on the mouth.  I furthered my claim by lying with Jim in his bed and deliberately caressing his nakedness as he slept.

I felt almost sorry for Spock as he stood in the doorway of the hospital room last night, still shirtless and damp from the shower, staring at me -- at us -- in utter astonishment.

Or whatever it was, before it turned to anger.  He tried to reason through it anyway, his voice tight and trembling.

"You know you have issued the challenge."

"Yes."  I combed Jim's hair with my fingers, intentionally brushing the curves of his ear.

"You intend  _kal-i-fi_?" 

"Yes."  

"You mean for me to fight him, for you?  He is in no condition..."

"No, Spock."  That idiotic blindness -- he can't even see who it is he really wants.  "You must fight _me_ , for _him_."

He was stunned into silence, his mouth actually dropping open.  Oblivious, indeed.  

"It is not permitted.  Only the betrothed can make the challenge."

"This is  _my_  right, Spock.  I am essentially your betrothed, your mate in every other way save for the formal bond."  I could feel my own anger rising to match his, and I tried to push it down; I would lose right here if I lost my head.  "And as you say, he is in no condition to do so.   _I_ demand the right of challenge."

"But...you are setting yourself as his champion without his knowledge.  He does not know you want him."

"It doesn't matter.  Either way, he belongs to the winner."

Challenge was given for the possession of James Kirk, and he had no choice but to answer it.  He didn't want to, but I had forced his hand.  I tightened my hold on Jim's waist, waiting for him to consider his next move, to try to worm out of it.  When he had recovered enough to speak again, the words seemed strangled out of him. 

"You...you have no right to claim him."

"Of course I do.   I knew him before you did; we attended the same classes, joined the same clubs, moved in the same circle of friends.  He spent a considerable amount of effort trying to form a relationship with me before he knew I was involved with you.  And I've served under him just as long as you have.  I have more right to him than you do."

His eyes were blazing now, furious.  "I have fought for him, defended his life!"

"As have I.  I risked my life on Kronos too, I helped you carry him to safety when he was down.  And if I hadn't shot Khan, you would never have been able to bring him back on board.  You were getting your ass kicked when I showed up to bail you out, remember?"  I stroked Jim's bare hip to make my point clearer.   "He owes his life to me, just as much, even more, than to you.  He is  _mine_."  

I was irrationally, cruelly glad of the truth of my words and the provocation of my actions.  I could see him starting to come apart.

"But he does not know of the ancient custom.  He knows nothing of the bond..."

So, there it was.  My hand froze for a second, and I forced it to continue even as a wave of nausea ate at me inside.  This is what I had meant to find out, and I had to see it through.  

I heard my own voice, brittle and ugly.

"So, you admit it.   You share a bond."

Silence.  I knew it, I fucking knew it.  I felt my own fury rise uncontrollably as I sat up on the bed, one hand still possessively on Jim's side.

"You bonded with him without my consent, without even my _knowledge_...!"  

"It was not...intentional."

" _Bullshit_!"

Silence again.  Then, hesitatingly... 

"It occurred through the meld...the meld that I utilized to bring him back."

A meld he never, not once, mentioned to me.

_The lover he had before you, and the one he'll have after you._

At that moment, Jim shifted slightly and moaned in his sleep, and Spock's face changed, melting and shifting into something softer as the anger faded, as his hand reached out to rest on Jim's forehead.  He quieted immediately under the touch, murmured something unintelligible, and relaxed back into sleep. 

I think I knew it was over, right then.  But Spock had to say it, had to admit it to me and to himself, had to own the consequences instead of ignoring them and stringing me along until he decided which of us he wanted more, if ever he would, or even could.

_I have to see this through._  I took a breath.

"You have three choices.  You can accept the challenge, in which case we fight where and how I decide.  If you choose to reject the challenge, you forfeit your claim to him and he becomes mine by default.  Or you can ignore the challenge and do nothing, whereupon I will immediately request reassignment so as to immediately sever our relationship.  We will never see each other again; we will be strangers for the rest of our lives."

His hand never left Jim's face.  Neither did his eyes, although his words were directed at me.  "I will consider the options and inform you of my decision at some later time."

I nodded and lay back down, pressing myself against Jim's back.  But I didn't sleep, not for hours, as I listened to Spock softly pacing around the room in the near-darkness, like a caged animal trying to find a way to escape.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those purists who are upset with the whole who-gets-to-declare-kal-i-fi thang, yeah, I feel you, but I have at least two points in my favor. (1) Vulcan is gone, New Vulcan is still having growing pains, and there's no family property with masked men and lirpas and ahn-woons lying around and T'Pau sitting in a port-a-chair yelling "Kroykah!" to run this show, so Nyota gets to do it however the hell she wants; (2) Uhura is too much of a bad-ass to do anything else. Seriously, this chick has hot-wired her own communications terminal to foil a god, tricked a kajillion androids into thinking she was on their side so she could rescue the entire crew, used her sexy bad-assyness to distract vicious Mirror Sulu long enough to let Scotty hot-wire the transporter, pushed off of Crazy Sulu with the most awesome comeback to "Ah, fair maiden!" ever conceived, and oh yeah, single-handedly detected the Romulan attack on the Klingon prison planet in ST 2009. Among other things. So I abhor the way she has been reduced, in STID, to a bitchy princess, albeit a bitchy princess who stabbed a Klingon in the ballsack. With her *left* hand. BAD. ASS. No way in hell she sits around waiting for Spock to dump her when she knows what's going down.
> 
> I am not sorry.


	18. Bones (5)

 

I got back up to Jim's floor just as Phil Boyce stepped off the elevator.  No mistaking that head of white hair and the ageless energy in his step.  Dressed to the nines for morning rounds, too, a monogrammed shirt and tie on under his spotless lab coat.  For a second I wished I'd dug around in the box Spock brought down for something decent to wear, like a real shirt and trousers instead of the rumpled scrubs I had on.  A shave and a dash of deodorant would have been welcome additions too.

Too late; he caught sight of me and waved me over.

"Leonard!  I'm off to see our most famous patient.  Care to come along?"

I guess Phil didn't know that's where I'd been spending many of my waking hours, and a good deal of the sleeping ones too.  I didn't bother to enlighten him, just smiled and nodded and followed him down the corridor to Jim's room.  

It was pretty obvious that we'd walked in on something when I saw that same fragmented look on Spock's face, when he turned toward Phil and me, that I'd seen earlier that morning.  Jim wasn't looking too good either -- paler than when I'd left, eyes rimmed with red.  Phil might have noticed it himself if he hadn't caught sight of Spock first.

"Mr. Spock!  It's good to see you!"  He moved across the room toward him, hand extended, and it surprised me to see Spock take it and return his firm handshake.  Then I remembered, they'd both served under Chris Pike.  They remembered it too, at the same time, and Phil's smile faded a little as he added his other hand to grasp Spock's tightly.

"It's good to see you," he repeated more softly, "but perhaps not so much under these circumstances."

Spock inclined his head as he withdrew his hand.  The room was silent for just long enough before Phil turned to Jim.  "But we're happy that  _you're_  with us, Captain Kirk," he continued, gently.  "Nasty business, all that, but I'm glad to see you're finally awake.  How're you feeling?"

Some people can carry off that genial hail-fellow-well-met shtick, and Phil Boyce was one of them.  Jim managed a weak smile.

"All right, I guess.  And you are...?"

"Philip Boyce, your attending physician."  He reached a hand out toward Jim, waiting, expectant.

I saw Jim's lips tighten as he contracted his right trapezius and flexed his elbow to lift his arm toward Phil, slowly rotating his wrist to offer his hand in return.  It wasn't a great handshake, but it was recognizable. 

Phil's friendly expression didn't reveal it, but I could tell: that was a test.  Damn, he was good.

"Let's take a look at your chart, then let's take a look at you."  He scrolled through the PADD, nodding every few seconds, glancing at me as he came across each of my entries.  "Hmh.  Not much for me to add to this, is there?  Leonard, you've been a very busy boy lately."

Didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything.  Spock tilted his head and shot me an inquiring look that I chose to ignore.

"All right, let's have a look."  Phil hung the PADD back up and took a penlight from his lab coat pocket.  Cupping Jim's jaw in one hand to steady his head, he clicked the light on.  

A weird sound from Spock -- I looked across the bed at him, curious.  Nothing unusual on his face, but I noticed his hands were clasped tightly together behind his back, his stance more rigid than usual.

Phil pointed the light at each of Jim's eyes to test his pupillary reflexes and checked his ocular movement by having him follow the penlight's movement with his eyes.  He noted the results in the PADD, then traced a path down Jim's right arm with the other end of the penlight .  "Tell me if you have any trouble feeling this all the way down, any numbness or tingling."  He repeated the procedure with Jim's other arm as Jim shook his head no.  "Good," Phil nodded as he replaced the penlight in his breast pocket.  He took Jim's hands in his.  "Squeeze my fingers as hard as you can."

Jim complied, and Phil seemed pleased with the result.  "That's very good," he smiled.  "Now let's see how your legs are doing."  He pulled the bedsheet down, tactfully smoothing Jim's gown to cover him as much as possible.  

Across from me, Spock unclasped his hands and laid one of them on Jim's shoulder.  I saw his fingers tighten slightly as Phil similarly checked Jim's legs and feet for sensory neuropathy, then tested his leg strength.  He didn't remove his hand until after Phil had completed the examination and pulled the blankets back up to Jim's waist.

"Well, Captain, what do you think of this.  We get that catheter out of you, and you start trying to eat and drink normally.  How's that sound?"

Jim did a passable imitation of a shrug.  "Fine."

"Good.  And let's get you on the physical therapy rotation.  Get some oil in those joints.  Mornings suit you?"

Jim looked doubtful but nodded.  I felt doubtful but wasn't about to argue. 

"Good.  I'll stop by and see you later today.  In the meantime, I'll order you a liquid diet; let's see how you handle that. Any dietary restrictions I should know about?"

"Just a few food allergies, that's all."  His voice was tired, more so than I expected for that early in the morning, and his face against the pillow was almost dead white.  

"Well, I can tell you need some rest.  I'll get on out of here and leave you alone, and the nurse will be in shortly to take out that catheter.  You should see a breakfast tray arrive within the hour; if it doesn't get here, comm me and I'll bring it myself."  He put the PADD back in its slot and turned to me, then clapped me on the shoulder.  "You've done a hell of a job here, Leonard."

"Indeed he has."  It was practically the first thing I'd heard Spock say that day, and it was to back me up -- hell must have been freezing over at that moment.  I tried not to roll my eyes and almost succeeded.

Phil laughed.  "I'll see you gentlemen this afternoon."

 

***

 

Breakfast didn't go so very well.  Jim had next to no appetite, and the smell of the hospital-grade beef broth sickened him.  We gave up when he wouldn't even try the coffee and settled for giving him sips of water instead while we worked out a schedule for the next few days.  I would take Jim to physical therapy in the morning after my shift was over, and Spock would use that time to rest, to sleep or meditate as he chose.  Then in the afternoon, I would sleep while Spock would take over, and the nighttime would be covered by both of us, him staying with Jim and me checking in from time to time over the course of the night shift.  Spock pointed out that, if we maintained this schedule, I would be getting only approximately 65% -- approximately! -- of the daily sleep allotment required by the average Human.  

_Tell me something I don't already know_ , I grumbled.  He could see that was the way I wanted it and shut up about it pretty quick.

After Jim had all the water he cared for, I settled in to catch forty winks in the recliner while he dozed, Spock keeping watch at his bedside, but for what, I couldn't tell.  So far Phil was prohibiting visitors to "our most famous patient," a smart precaution in light of the publicity that was bound to be generated by the news of a dead man come back to life, so that couldn't have been what Spock was looking out for.  But I could see he was tense, almost twitchy, as he alternately stood next to the bed  and stared at the door or sat stiffly in his chair, tilting slightly toward Jim, watching him sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ST:AOS makes no mention of Dr. Boyce serving on board a ship commanded by Captain Pike, and it's doubtful that the AOS timeline would allow him and Spock to be on the same missions. But it fits with TOS, and any doctor that would prescribe his captain a martini as a remedy deserves the benefit of the doubt.


	19. Jim (6)

 

_No, not this, not again._

_I am back on the ship, running like before, but it's different now; there's no joy, no lightness, no flying, just the pounding of my feet heavy on the decks as I run from the bridge to Engineering.  And I know I don't want to see what's there waiting for me so I try to slow my feet down but they refuse, they keep pounding, dragging me through the bowels of the ship to the warp core._

_I reach it and my feet finally let me slow to a walk, each step heavier and heavier, the dread growing at what I know I'll find. Already my breathing slows; each intake of air is shakier, each exhalation more difficult.  And here's Scotty with Keenser at his side and Nyota crying into his shoulder, and here's the core access port, and the glass door._

_And there's Spock, the blood from his eyes trailing down his burned cheeks, the blood from his mouth pooling in the folds of his uniform, his face turned blindly toward me as I kneel on the deck on the other side of the glass._

_This time I don't scream.  I can't.  It's just too much; I have nothing left.  My mind has become blank, like a still pool of black oil, quiet and lifeless.  All I can do as I stare hopelessly at his suffering is feel the absolute misery of this loss, of losing him.  I don't want to feel it anymore; I wish I could feel nothing, I wish I would become nothing, I wish this would end._

_My left hand flattens against the door, matched by his on the other side.  I rest my forehead on the glass and start to cry._

_Something slips into my right hand; I cling to it like a lifeline and it lifts me, pulls me to my feet and away from the door.  I open my eyes and it's Spock, undamaged, his first two fingers in my grasp._

_"What you remember is not real," he murmurs, and inclines his head back toward the warp core.  I follow his gaze and see another Spock on his knees outside the door and another me inside, skin burned, eyes bleeding, breath failing._

_I see our reflections in the glass of the door, faint shadows of gold and blue side by side, my hand still wrapped around his fingers, as we watch our other selves grieve._

_"This is reality," he says.  "This is what happens."_

_Our reflections in the glass fade as it dissolves and disappears.  I see the other Spock grasp the other Kirk's hand, no barrier between them now, and pull him to his chest, enfolding him in his arms, surrounding him while he dies, his face buried in the cooling flesh of his neck._ _  
_

_"This is what is real," my Spock says.  "You are not alone.  I never leave you."_

_I squeeze his fingers tightly within my hand to make sure he doesn't._


	20. Spock (5)

 

Now that both the captain and the doctor are asleep -- and, judging by the amplitude of the doctor's snores, rather deeply at that -- the relative calm provides me with an opportunity to reflect on the course of action I may expect to pursue upon Nyota's anticipated return later this afternoon.  While her motivations for choosing the challenge are unclear to me -- they are obviously based in emotion and are therefore most illogical -- I cannot ignore what she has issued and have thus spent better part of the last few hours since her departure considering my options.  

The  first of these was to accept her challenge, to meet her on the field of battle.  As she specified that she would choose the manner of our combat, I can only anticipate that she would decide upon a form of competition at which she had a reasonable chance of victory; thus, despite the advantages of my greater size and strength, it is not a foregone conclusion that I would defeat her.  And strangely, while it is even more likely that she would, contrary to custom, select a contest that would not result in either of our deaths, I find I have no desire whatsoever to injure her, much less kill her.  I am gratified at this sentiment, as it indicates that I have not succumbed to the irrationality of the  _pon farr_  and thus that I am in full control of my faculties in this matter.  However, the absence of the blood fever also precludes the desire to fight her in any way, in any contest.

I reject the first alternative and consider the next.

Capitulation.  I would cede the challenge to her without combat, at which point she would take possession of the captain.  The consequences of this action are difficult for me to envision because, despite her ostentatious display of ownership, I am fully aware that she does not in fact want him.  I know of their history, of his attempts to interest her in a partnership and of her rejection of each of those attempts.  I therefore surmise that her sole interest in claiming him is to prevent me from having access to him, not to enjoy her own proprietorship.  And even if she did, what then of myself?  Would she continue to invest in a relationship with me once she had another?  Unlikely.  Just as I would not, were I to succeed at any competition in which the captain were the prize.  Thus the only logical outcome of my surrender is the dissolution of our romantic association and the termination of the friendship I currently enjoy with the captain. 

I accordingly reject her second option, bringing me into a  _de facto_  acceptance of the third.  My refusal to either accept the challenge or concede it to her out of hand would result in our immediate and permanent estrangement.  I find this scenario unacceptable.  Vulcans do not enter into casual, transient partnerships the way Humans do, and while my involvement with Nyota is not that of a bondmate, she was correct in her assertion that we are functionally partners in every way but for the establishment of the mating bond.  We enjoy each other's company, we share various interests in common, and she has brought me contentment and fulfillment in many ways.  I find I do not wish to terminate all contact with her, rendering the third recourse as undesirable as the other two.   

My mind revolves to examine each possibility in turn and finds no tolerable solution.  If this was her intent, to provide me with no form of escape from the consequences of deliberately obfuscating my actions with the captain, she has succeeded brilliantly.

My fingers twitch involuntarily, and the captain's hand immediately responds, contracting around them even in his state of deep slumber.  My heart swells with possessive pride and I know, whatever the outcome, that she shall not have him.  

Perhaps I am experiencing the blood fever after all, for now I cannot rid my mind of the image of her touching him or of the memory of my immediate response -- the sudden, irrational desire to tear her hand away and replace it with my own, to seize the white flesh of his hip for myself and press my lips and teeth to its silken surface, as if to devour him.

 


	21. Bones (6)

 

I was dreaming in that floating, hectic way you dream when you're not really asleep yet, until a hypnic jerk of my leg fully woke me up.  Disoriented for a minute, I looked over at the bed to find that  Jim had somehow managed to turn onto his left side, his hand clutching two of Spock's fingers as he slept.  Spock's eyes were closed too, but he was sitting as straight up in the chair as if he were on duty on the bridge, and when I softly called his name, he opened them right away to look at me with none of the stupor I was sure as hell feeling right then.

So I hadn't been imagining things yesterday.

He didn't make a move to pull away, didn't move at all in fact except to open his eyes. He looked strangely serene, like he knew it was odd that they were holding hands but he wasn't going to do shit about it.  I didn't sense that he was defensive, just that it didn't matter to him either way if I thought it was all right or not.  And he looked happy, if that's even possible.

Or maybe I could just see it because I knew what it felt like. 

"How's he doing?"

There was a little hesitation before he answered.  "He is comfortable at the moment, but he has been experiencing hallucinations that he is finding rather disturbing.  This contact..." -- he directed his eyes down at their linked hands but otherwise didn't move a muscle -- "...appears to relieve his distress."

"Hallucinations?  He didn't say a thing to me about that."

The almost-happy expression on his face faded into his customary neutrality.  "Perhaps that is too strong a term.  'Nightmares' might be more appropriate."

"Nightmares about what?  Do you know?"

A careful pause before his response, like he didn't want to say the wrong thing.  "About death."

I nodded; it made sense, I guess.

He went on.  "I fear I may have inadvertently precipitated the situation by melding with him during the regeneration process.  It appears that the mental barriers between his subconscious fears and his waking consciousness are indistinct."

"Is that a common side effect of mind-melding with Humans?"

He paused again, thoughtful.  "There are no incidents on record of such an effect."

"Then don't you think that it's more likely that his dreams have nothing to do with the meld and everything to do with the fact that he  _died_  in there?  Or maybe that it's something  _I_  did, something with using Khan's serum that we couldn't predict?"

Spock shook his head slightly.  "I do not believe that either of those events has as much likelihood of having damaged his mind in some way as do my actions."

I swear to God, for a member of an allegedly mentally superior species, Spock can be as dumb as a sack of hair.

"Listen, he'd probably be a vegetable right now if it weren't for what you did.  Hell, he might even be dead from the shock of it, of his mind being caught in a dead body that just * _boom_ * comes back to life.  How can you second-guess yourself now? 

"...I..."  

Silence.

Well, that was a first, Spock at a loss for words.  I got up and went over to them to check Jim's I.V.

He tried again.  "I would not wish to be the cause of his discomfort."

I circled around the bed to stand next to him, and although I knew he probably wouldn't like it, I put my hand on his shoulder to reassure him.  Assuming he needed it. 

"Welcome to the world of medicine, where discomfort in the name of healing is the name of the game.  Get used to it."

Jim opened his eyes as I spoke, blinked a few times, and focused on me.  

"Hey, Bones.  You look like shit."  His speech had improved to the point that I could actually hear the s-h in "shit" so I didn't mind his sass too much.  Besides, I was pretty sure he was right; I needed a shower and a shave like nobody's business.

He rolled his eyes upward.  "Spock.  You look great.  Compared to him, I mean."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spock raise an eyebrow.

"Well, since you're feeling good enough to hit on Spock and shit on me, why don't we see if you can piss like a man."  I cranked the head of the bed up as he and Spock drew their hands apart; he rolled onto his back by himself and stretched, legs as well as arms.  I tried not to whoop about it but I could feel those cheek cramps starting again.  Amazing what a couple hours of sleep can do, I told myself.  

"Spock, why don't you dig out something more attractive for Sleeping Beauty here to wear while I yank this catheter out."  

Spock moved across the room to the cargo box with Jim's things and searched for some clothes while Jim looked at me in alarm.

"Uh...yank?"

"How the hell else do you think it comes out, son, by magic?"  I deflated the tubing bladder with a syringe.  "Now take a deep breath."

"Jesus, Bones, could you... _aaahhh motherfucker_!"

"I told you to take a deep breath.  That'll teach you to mind your kindly country doctor."  I rolled the tubing up and taped it to the bag, then handed him the urinal.  "See what you can do with that."

He took a hold of it with a pretty good grip and managed to pee a little.  Another good sign.

I'd measured and recorded his urine output by the time Spock came back over, carrying a t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

"Good choice.  Help me get him dressed."

Jim was able to help us by leaning forward to let Spock untie his gown while I pulled it off and raising his arms so that we could pull the t-shirt on, threading the I.V. tubing through one of the sleeves.  Getting the boxer shorts on was a little harder because his leg mobility was, although much better than before, still not great, but he was able to lift his ass off the bed with the strength of his arms, so we managed to slide them on all right.  He lay back on the bed with a sigh of satisfaction, I was pleased too, but guarded; he'd made more progress over the past several hours than I could have hoped for, and I hate to admit it, but I didn't think he would, not this fast.  The remnants of Khan's blood products were clearly still working in him, and I didn't want to dwell too much on what the ramifications might be.

So I made my tone light.  "That went pretty well.  I guess you can start physical therapy in the morning after all."

Jim frowned a little.  "With who, that guy that was here earlier? Dr. Pencil Dick?"

"His name is Philip Boyce, and no, it would be with me.  And I'll bet that once PT sees your name on the schedule, there'll be plenty of other therapists waiting to help you as well."

The frown disappeared, replaced by a grin of relief.  "Good.  Now what about this?"  he asked, gesturing at the I.V. port.  "Can you take it out too?"

"Nope, not until you show me you can eat a meal on your own."

"Okay, where the hell is that tray from earlier?"

The breakfast items were cold, so I got a lunch tray from the staff cart in the corridor.  Chicken bouillon had replaced the beef broth on the lunch menu, and Jim had only a few mouthfuls before waving it away, but he ate all the gelatin and drank the juice and coffee, managing to hold the cups by himself two-handed without spilling their contents, although they did shake a bit.  He was just putting the empty coffee cup down when Nyota appeared in the doorway.

She'd been stunning last night, but she was adorable today, and of the two, I preferred this look -- jeans, boots, a white top under a short jacket, and her hair pulled back in a simple pony tail, not a trace of make-up that I could see.  For a moment I was reminded of just how young they all were, barely out of the academy and already tearing all over the galaxy.  And you normally can't see the girl underneath, because when the shift starts, she buttons herself up to become the efficient bridge officer, and that's all you get until the shift is over.  Unless she wants you to see anything else, which she usually doesn't.

Just the kind of girl you'd take home to Mom, or in Spock's case, Dad.  He must be an idiot not to have done that already, and I knew he hadn't, so I knew he was.

Jim lit up at the sight of her, and she smiled back at him with so much warmth that he blushed again, the color climbing up his neck to rest high on his cheeks.

"Baby man, you are looking  _good_."  She didn't kiss him this time but turned to me instead.  "Here, I have something for you."  

Turned out she'd gone shopping like she said.  For me, a neck pillow so I wouldn't suffer too much during my naps in the recliner.  For Jim, a light, silky blanket that she put over him in place of the hospital sheet, an exchange that had him sighing with delight.  And for Spock, a mystery gift in a small wrapped box.

"I'm gonna let him open this in private.  Do you two mind if we slip out for a little bit?"

I think we both kind of minded, but we said no anyway, and she left the room with Spock following behind.  

 


	22. Jim (7)

 

"Man, I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.  Ten-to-one she's dumping his ass even as we speak."

I watched Bones' hands as he disconnected the I.V. in my arm.  "You know something I don't?"

"Nope, don't know, didn't ask, but I know the signs."  He threw away the tubing.  "There, now you're free as a bird.  Let's get you sitting up for a bit."

He helped me swing my legs over the side of the bed, pulled my arm around his neck, and pivoted me into the chair by the bed, all in one smooth motion.  "How's that feel?  Gonna keel over on me?"

It felt pretty fucking good to get out of bed, but I could tell I was going to have to go back into it pretty soon.

"Here.  Don't forget your widdle bwankie."  He tucked the blanket Uhura just brought me around my legs.

"Shut up, asshole."  

He just shook his head and grinned at me.  So worth it to make him smile like that.

"So you think Uhura will be a free woman.  You should make a move."

Bones shrugged as though he were considering it.  "Sucks for Spock, but he'll be all right, I figure; it's got to be harder on her, what with him being all unemotional and logical and whatnot."  He was stripping the bed as he spoke, tossing the sheets into a pile by the door.

"Yeah, but he's got his soft side too, you can see that."

"Well, maybe it takes a genius like you to see it, because I sure as hell don't."

That surprised me, because Bones had been right there to see Spock's emotional display only a few minutes ago.  "Come on, he was getting all weepy over me when you two were helping me change my clothes.  You mean you didn't notice?"

It was his turn to look surprised.  "Weepy?  Spock, just now?  No he wasn't, he was just being normal Spock with a capital N-S. You must be hallucinating."

Well, I was pretty sure I wasn't.  I added, "And he totally lost it, completely cracked up, when you pulled your Nurse Ratched move on me."

"Don't blame me, you infant, I told you to hold your breath.  I'm not responsible for your failure to follow orders."  He scooped up the pile of sheets and deposited them outside the door, then reappeared a few moments later with a pile of clean folded bedclothes.  His expression turned thoughtful as he spread out the bottom sheet.

"Jim, are you saying you heard Spock laugh?"

"Yeah, plain as day right when you were giving me the country doctor line."

He finished tucking in the bottom sheet and started with the top.  "Sorry to break this to you, but you were dreaming or some shit, because that didn't happen either."

I watched his hands pulling and smoothing the sheets as I pondered the possibility.  "I don't know...maybe I was, I guess.  I've been having some pretty rough dreams lately."

He leaned against the newly made bed, arms folded, one leg crossed in front of the other, eyes on me.  "About what?  If you care to share."

I had to swallow before I could answer.  "About Spock dying, from the radiation, instead of me.  Over and over."

He nodded.  "Doesn't surprise me.  You feel a lot of responsibility toward the crew and toward Spock in particular.  It's natural that you'd be anxious about putting him in danger, and that anxiety could come out in a recurring dream."

"Not like any dream I've ever had.  It's terrifying, it feels so fucking real." 

He rubbed his eyes with one hand, and I noticed how tired he looked, his eyes shadowed underneath.  "Look, give yourself a break.  You're still healing -- you've only been back from the dead for two weeks, for Christ's sake.  You're still replacing lost neural connections that let your brain talk to itself and to your muscles.  It's a slow process."

"You mean I have to learn to do what I used to be able to do before..."    

"Right.  And we just don't know what to expect while that process occurs."

We were quiet for a moment.  It was time, but it was hard to ask.  

He knew.  He waited.  

"Bones..."

"Yeah."

"How...what happened?  How did it all go down?"

He shifted his weight and recrossed his legs.  "What do you remember?"

"Being in the warp core, kicking the shit out of the supply node.  Then...that's pretty much all. Next thing I really remember is waking up here."

He nodded.  "Retrograde amnesia; it's pretty common.   People forget what happened around the time of a head injury or other brain trauma, and I'd say that what you went through sure as hell qualifies as trauma."

"Okay, so fill in the blanks."

"Well, obviously you succeeded in fixing whatever was wrong with the warp core, and somehow you managed to get down to the access port and close it so you wouldn't irradiate the entire ship.  But they still couldn't open the main door to get you out until the radiation levels dropped below maximum allowable.  That took a little while."

"So I died in there, like Spock said."

He closed his eyes.  "Yeah."

His arms were folded, hands holding his elbows.  I stared at his pinky ring, trying to find the right words.

"I'm sorry, man."

It wasn't nearly enough.

He nodded, after a while.  "Yeah."  Cleared his throat.  My turn to wait.

Finally he uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the bed, taking the pillow to shake it out of its pillowcase as he continued.  "So then Khan crashed the  _Vengeance_  into the Bay and killed a shitload of people." 

"Jesus Christ.  Was he trying to hit Starfleet?"

"I don't know, maybe.  Wouldn't put it past him.  That crazy rat bastard is why we're so full up here with patients and so short-handed.   He managed to do a hell of a lot of damage with that ship."

Nausea washed over me as I realized it was my fault.  If I hadn't done that ship-to-ship space jump with Khan, brought him along with me on board the  _Vengeance_ , it never would have happened, he never would have commandeered it, those people would be alive right now...

I said as much to Bones, and he snorted in reply as he pulled the fresh pillowcase on and smoothed it, tossing it to the head of the bed.  "Yeah, and the  _Enterprise_  would be a pile of space debris, and all of  _us_  would be dead now thanks to Admiral Marcus and his death machine.  Jim, there's no point in playing that what-if game, second-guessing...uh, yourself..."

I picked up on the stutter and his sudden frown.  "What's wrong?"

He shook his head and wiped his eyes again.  "Nothing, just some deja-vu.  I just told Spock that very same thing a little while ago."

"Why, what did he do?"

"He and Nyota beamed down after Khan crashed the ship and kicked his ass but good, then brought him back up to the  _Enterprise_.  Carol and I prepared a serum from Khan's blood and transfused you with it to regenerate your body while Spock helped your mind deal with the transition.  And now he's thinking he shouldn't have done it because he messed up your head somehow.  Dumbass, just like you."

I felt every hair on my body stand straight up.  "Messed it up how?"

"A mind-meld, that Vulcan mumbo-jumbo about 'My thoughts to your thoughts,' you know."  Bones, trying to be all casual; it didn't sell this time.  Horror bloomed like a flower in my gut.

"Are you saying...Spock got into my brain, read my mind?"

"Yeah, I think that's the long and short of it.  Why?"  

Something of what I was feeling must have shown on my face, because he came forward to kneel in front of me, his hands pressing on my knees through Uhura's blanket.  "Hey, why are you...are you all right?"

I'd have shit on the chair right then if I'd had anything to crap out.  I closed my eyes and groaned.

"Jim, calm down now!  What's got you all in a lather?"

"Oh my  _God,_  Bones, why'd you let him do that?" 

"Because you were  _dead_ , that's why! -- what the hell else were we supposed to do?  We didn't have a lot of options!"

"So...I've got Khan's blood in my body and Spock's brain in my brain?  Or more like my brain in his..."  The urge to shit was replaced by an urge to vomit.  On second thought, not replaced so much as joined.  I felt myself sway to one side in the chair, and Bones was up like a shot, elbows under my armpits, hauling me up and back over to the bed.

"I think you're missing the big picture here," he said, his voice tight as he swung my legs up and over.  "You were dead, goddamnit, dead as in, in a body bag.  Whatever he did, it fucking saved your life.  You should be grateful, I sure as fuck am, instead of getting your panties in a twist about nothing."

I let my head fall back against the fresh pillow.  "It's not nothing, it's...it's..."

Ah, fuck.  Fuck fuck  _fuck_.

He leaned in toward me.  "What the hell is wrong with you?  Is this about some privacy issue?"  

I put an arm over my eyes to shut out as much light as I could; I was brewing up a pretty good headache to go along with my puke/crap response.  

His voice, more gentle now. 

"Is there something you didn't want him to know?"

I couldn't take any more.  "Bones, I've got to be alone for a while.  Please."  I couldn't look at him but I felt his hands tucking the blanket around me.  

"Okay, I'll give you some time, then I'm gonna go find Spock and send him on in here.  It sounds to me like you two need to clear the air."

By the time I'd pulled my arm off my face to tell him no, he'd already left the room.

_Fuck_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know which of the nodes in the warp core is the supply and which the destination, so I guessed. And obviously I assumed 20th century arc technospeak applies to 23rd century warp cores.


	23. Nyota (3)

 

My great-grandmother used to enjoy a particular form of prognostication that involved several bowls of various sizes containing different types of dried grains.  She would sprinkle water over them as she spoke an incantation, then peer at each bowl's contents until the grains revealed their pattern, and therefore their message, to her.  Oftentimes the message would be vague or equivocal, requiring her expertise in divining the one true message from all the potential misinterpretations.  The placement of a single grain could spell the difference between breeding a chicken or killing it, between accepting a proposal of marriage or rejecting the suit. The consequences of misreading the message were often severe, so she would spend more hours than my childish energy could stand in scrutinizing every detail of every bowl.

I've long had the feeling that I've been studying a bowl of grain whose pattern is nonexistent, haphazard, its message obscured from my view as I examine it from several angles, struggling to piece together its meaning.  Today that struggle will end, one way or another.

We found an empty table on the outdoor deck of the hospital cafeteria.  The afternoon sun was warm, the breeze milder than that morning, and aside from a single wheelchair-bound patient parked next to a rolling I.V. stand, we had the deck to ourselves.  We sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the view of the nearby fountain and the walking paths that circle it and extend to the park beyond.  

I hoped that I would have enough self-control to be as calm as the surroundings, but already I felt it, an uncomfortable gnawing in my abdomen as I spoke first. 

"Have you come to a decision?"

He folded his hands on the table as he replied.  "When you issued the challenge, you gave me three options from which I was to choose a response.  I found that I was unable to select a course of action within the parameters of the choices you provided for me.  Consequently I propose a fourth alternative, which I would like to relate to you after I enumerate and explain my actions regarding the captain, with your permission, so that there is full disclosure on my part and every understanding on yours as to the nature of our relationship."

I nodded, not really sure I wanted to hear it but knowing I wanted, needed, him to say it.  "Go ahead." 

He looked down at his hands and spoke as though reciting a schoolroom lesson. "I have wronged you in the following ways.  I have felt an attraction toward the captain for several months and did not inform you of this sentiment.  I have on several occasions sought the captain's company at the expense of yours and have obscured my reasons for doing so, with the express purpose of assuaging any suspicion on your part of my affection for him.  I have deliberately sought unnecessary physical contact with the captain purely for my own gratification and have concealed such actions from you.  Lastly, following his death, I entered into a mind-meld with him in order to help Dr. McCoy save his life.  I did not inform you of that event because I wished to allow myself the pleasure of revisiting its memory in private and did not wish to respond to any inquiries you may have wanted to make about it.

"I concealed these events and sentiments from you so that you would not be inclined to discontinue our association, in order that I may simultaneously enjoy the company of the captain and yourself.  I acknowledge that this pattern of behavior constitutes infidelity toward you."

He looked up from his hands.  "Is there anything further you wish to know?"

The gnawing in my belly intensified into actual pain.  I already knew the answers but asked the questions anyway.

"This attraction you feel -- is it an emotional one?  Do you feel an emotional connection to him?"

"Yes.  I derive great satisfaction from being in his presence."

"And you're physically attracted to him as well?"

"Yes.  I find him pleasing to look upon, and I obtain enjoyment from engaging in physical contact with him."

"Do you want to sleep with him?"

"Yes."

Like the last piece of a puzzle sliding into place, the pattern in the bowl of grain is finally clear to me.  All that remains is to ask for clarification of the message so as to determine the best course of action.

"Does he know any of this?"

"No.  He is completely unaware of my tenderness toward him."

"How can you be so sure?" 

"When I entered his mind during the meld, I found nothing within it to indicate that he feels anything more for me than friendship and a degree of fondness similar to that which he feels for every crew member."

"So he hasn't led you on, made you think you could have something with him...?"

"No.  He is blameless in this matter; the fault rests entirely with me.  He does not desire me in the same manner as I do him."

I'd already heard that line today, from another man I cherished.  I felt a sudden flash of anger toward Kirk as I imagined him striding through life with his brash boldness and his insouciant smile, completely uncaring and unaware of the precious hearts stretching out behind him, crushed by his feet into a trail of confetti.

The ache was coming in waves now, and I hid my shaking hands under the table.  "What is your response to the challenge?"

He looked back down at his hands as he answered.

"It was highly irregular for you to issue the challenge as you are not my bondmate and you did not choose the captain to be your champion.  However, you were correct in your assertion that you have acted as my spouse in every way save for the establishment of the marriage bond.  I therefore release you from our association, that release contingent upon my having answered your questions to your satisfaction and upon your confidence that you are fully cognizant of all details pertaining to the relationship between you and myself and between myself and the captain.  The release is granted by me as acknowledgment of and in atonement for my infidelity to you.  You are free to choose another, including me if it is your wish.

"In addition, when you issued the challenge, you assumed the role of his champion for combat with me, placing him in the role of bondmate.  I therefore release him as well; I will cease all actions pertaining to any cultivation of an amorous relationship with him as I have described them to you.  Although he was never mine, he too is free to pursue another, yourself included if it is his wish and yours, and I will not interfere in any way with that process.  

"It is my sincerest hope that you find this solution acceptable.  I do not desire to fight you, nor do I desire to witness the predictably unpleasant consequences of your possessing another being in whom I have a romantic interest but you, I believe, do not. I also do not wish to be completely dissociated from you, although I will accept whatever parameters you choose to place upon our continued association.  I also hope that you perceive this solution to represent appropriate retribution for my coveting the affections of both the captain and yourself."

I had been prepared for him to discredit my basis for the challenge and ignore it in favor of the status quo.  My request for a transfer was already filled out, folded, and resting in my handbag.  

I will have to examine the bowl for a little longer, after all, to figure out what to do.

"I'll need some time, a few days or so."

He closed his eyes in acquiescence.  

I had no more questions save one.

"If you had to choose between being with me and being with him, if he did want you in return, whom would you choose?"

He knew he owed it to me to look me straight in the eye, and he did.  "I would choose him."

I slid the gift box across the table toward him.  "Don't open this until after I've left."

He nodded. 

I picked up my handbag and left him sitting at the table as I moved across the deck back toward the hospital entrance.  Leonard was waiting; I had no idea how long he'd been there.  

He opened his arms at my approach and I slid into them gratefully.  

"How'd it go?"

"How do you know there was an 'it'?"

I felt him smile against my hair.  "A man knows."

I shook my head and pushed away from his chest. "Not every man."

He looked at me like I was a bowl of grain.  I knew I had to leave right away before I fell apart.

"What can I do?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to say "Nothing," but I knew that was a lie.  "I'll comm you soon," I said instead, and kissed his cheek before heading back into the building.  I reached the lift and turned to see him, through the sliding glass doors, heading across the deck toward Spock.  

The lift came; I turned away, entered it, and pushed the button labeled "5 -- Obstetrics."

 


	24. Spock (6)

 

There is a quotation from the works of Surak stating that the truthful individual will come to know serenity whereas the dishonest one will remain in the agonizing throes of passion.  I have heard of a similar Human aphorism: "Honesty is the best policy."  At this moment I am not certain that either allegation is correct.

I am aware that my inherited proclivity toward truthfulness has, on occasion, insulted my Human relations and acquaintances; the memory of my mother's tears upon hearing that I no longer desired her to read to me at bedtime, for example, is still a painful one.  Slightly less painful but still disturbing was Nyota's anger at my assertion that a particular piece of clothing she favored was unbecoming to her physique.  Several other examples of incidents in which honesty on my part led to distress on the part of others come to mind, none of them appearing to ameliorate my state of mental serenity but rather to disturb it.

This last episode, in which I have informed Nyota of my preference for another, will disturb me for quite some time, I fear.  And yet it is a great relief to have unburdened myself of the truth, to not have to continue expending energy to conceal it from her or from myself.  

The path ahead for me is clear; my mind is, on that score, indeed at ease.  For while she has not as yet informed me if my alternative to her options of challenge is acceptable, I am committed to act in accordance with it, that is, to cease all manner of inappropriate contact with the captain that I have heretofore enjoyed in secret.  I owe her no less.  

And as for myself, I can at last cease my internal mendacity as to my own emotions regarding the captain.  I had managed to assure myself that unnecessary physical contact with him was in fact necessary, that evenings spent with him discussing the days' events were vital to the operations of the ship, that any sentiments I had regarding him resulted only from the normal and expected interaction of a first officer with his commander.  But his death revealed the truth I had hidden from myself, and the events subsequent to it that led up to this afternoon's confrontation have only served to reinforce its veracity.  The challenge she issued, rather than clouding my mind with the blood fever, has burned into it the comfort of absolute clarity.

No matter that I may not express it, either outright or covertly as before.  No matter that he does not return it and perhaps never will.  No matter that I may carry with me the pain of an unfulfilled bond for the rest of my days.  For even as her retreating footsteps still sound within my ears, as the chair she has just vacated still radiates her warmth, the longing to return to him surges within me and brings with it a grievous joy.

I am his; there will be no other for me.

I take the box containing Nyota's gift and slip it into my pocket as the doctor approaches. 

 


	25. Bones (7)

 

I probably should have given Spock more time alone after what I was pretty sure just happened between him and Nyota, but I could feel my own anxiety over Jim's emotional state taking precedence over anything he was feeling at that point.  Funny thing was, the way he looked up at me, I got the impression he felt the same way, 

"Doctor.  Is there some news you wish to impart concerning the captain's status?"

I sat down opposite him.  "Yeah.  You need to talk to him about the meld."

He nodded and folded his hands as he looked out over the park.  He didn't say anything, so I went on.  "After you left the room, I filled him on on what he can't remember, everything I could anyway, between the time he fixed the warp core and his waking up here.  He took pretty much all of it in stride except for that.  For some reason it's really bothering him."

Spock was silent for a few minutes while I fidgeted, impatiently, wondering if I was wrong, if he really was so broken up over Uhura that he couldn't take in anything else.  And I admit, I wanted him to tell me what the meld was all about, what went on in between their two heads that brought Jim back from the dead and left Spock passed out on the deck.  But he gave me nothing as he finally stood up and turned to me.

"Shall we go?"

And that was that; we headed back to Jim's room together.

We arrived to find Phil Boyce assessing Jim's lower extremity sensation and strength again.  At least I presume that was what he was doing.  To a layperson, it looked like he was just stroking Jim's legs.  Beside me, Spock was as tense as a hound dog trying to shit a peach pit.  I admit, I didn't like it much either.

"Gentlemen!  Wonderful to see you both."  He made a few notations on Jim's chart while he chatted.  "I'm pleased, very pleased, and also very surprised at the rapid progress our young captain is making."  He turned back to Jim.  "Want to try to stand up, son?"

Jim nodded silently and looked, pointedly I thought, at Spock and me.  Didn't need to tell us twice.  We stepped up to the side of the bed as he swung his legs over by himself, holding up a hand to Phil when he tried to lend his own to help.  Looping one arm over my shoulders and the other over Spock's, he slid his ass off the bed and stood between us on his bare feet.

Phil looked at him intently, his head tilted to one side, and made another note on the PADD.

"Now that I'm up, can I go pee in something other than a plastic bottle?"

I grinned and patted him on the chest with my free hand.  'Kid, you can do whatever the hell you want to, as far as I'm concerned.  Spock, you all right watching your CO take a whiz?"

Spock nodded, once, and we stepped carefully together toward the rest room.  Phil watched until we made it as far as the door.  

"Gentlemen, I'm off to continue my rounds.  Leonard, you'll note any other developments for me, won't you?"  He hung the PADD back on the wall.

"Yeah, sure."

"Good man."  

Jim waited until Phil was out of the room to piss in the toilet, one arm wrapped around my shoulders.  "Think I could get a shower too?"

"Like I said, whatever the hell you want."  

We helped him sit in the shower chair and pulled off his t-shirt and shorts; Spock took them and left to exchange them for fresh clothes while I washed him up.  He groaned as I dug my fingers into his scalp to wash his hair.

"God, Bones, that is so fucking awesome."

"You need a haircut," I noted.  "Getting kind of shaggy back here."  I rinsed him off and toweled his head dry, then started on his legs while he managed to dry his arms and chest.  I smiled to see the curls forming on his forehead and the back of his neck as his hair dried; he really did need that haircut. 

Spock returned with the change of clothes, got him dressed, and helped him back into bed while I made a few notes on the PADD.  

"I'm ordering you a soft solid meal for dinner.  Do your best on it and let me know how much of that goes down."  

My scrubs were soaked; I needed a change of clothes myself.  By the time I came back to the room, showered up and in dry scrubs, Jim was already tucking into the dinner tray, pasta and mashed potatoes and peach cobbler.  Spock was next to him, at the ready but not apparently helping him in any way.  Boyce was right; the speed of his recovery was remarkable.

After noting his food intake for the evening, I dropped into the recliner, put Nyota's neck pillow in place, and let my eyelids drop like lead weights.  If they talked about the meld at all, I didn't hear it; the next thing I knew, it was dark outside, Jim was asleep in the bed, and it was time for me to leave for the night shift.

 

***

 

First thing I do when starting a shift is check the intake roster.  And there it was:  _Uhura, Nyota U_.  Checked into the OB ward earlier that afternoon.

Up I went to the fifth floor and found her, awake in her bed, reading a PADD.

"Nyota, what the  _hell_."

She smiled at me.  "You can read my chart.  It's okay."

I did, and my heart sank for her.  Then I read the results of the embryonic DNA analysis, and it sank even more.  

"Darlin', I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," she said, and held out her hand.  I took it and sat next to her, stroking her slim fingers and wishing things would be easier for her than it looked like they were going to be.

"What can I do?"

She squeezed my hand.  "I have to stay overnight to make sure there's no more bleeding, but then I can leave tomorrow morning.  I could use a ride home."

"Sure.  My shift ends at 0700 and Jim's physical therapy appointment isn't until 0930, so I can run you home in between."

"Thanks, Leonard.  Truly."  

I pressed her hand between mine and kissed her cheek.  "You'll let me know if there's anything else, won't you?"

"You bet, honey," she answered, her dark eyes liquid.

I spent the rest of that shift in a kind of trance, my hands working to help countless, faceless patients while my mind dwelled alternately on Jim and Nyota, on how much of their private hells I would ever know about, on how much Spock would ever know, and I realized that, of the two of us, he was more in the dark than I.

 


	26. Jim and Spock

 

Man, this is nice.  I love the ocean, love the beach in the evening, love the feel of sand between my toes, love the sound of the surf when it's calm.  The sky is perfect, red and blue and purple, with only the brightest stars visible overhead, but it's so clear out tonight and I'm so far away from the city that I know there will be a million stars once it gets totally dark.  And it's cool but not too cool, the breeze is gentle in my hair and against my bare skin, and the sand is still warm from the earlier heat of the day.  I breathe in and feel my lungs expand endlessly, smell the sweet salty air, and goddamn, it's so fucking excellent.

And there he is, farther down along the shore, his feet in the water, looking down at the surf as it rolls up over them.  So I start running, and it's great to use my legs again, great to feel their strength again, to hear my feet go crunch-crunch-crunch in the sand as I sprint effortlessly toward him.  And he hears me coming, looks up and over at me, and I see him smiling in the dimming light, holding one hand out to me.  

I slow to a walk and cover the last few meters between us, reaching out with my hand as well.  And he takes it and clasps it between both of his, then places it on his cheek and holds it there while he touches my face with his other hand.

_This is what is real_

I'm impatient, eager for more, so I surge toward him, but he twists away from me as the smile fades from his face.  And now I see there is sadness in his eyes.

_I am sorry_

_No_

I seize him with both hands, spin him to face me, pull him in to me, and he is cold, his flesh like ice.  And I press him to me, trying to warm him, but his body is cold in my arms, and he won't look at me.

_Parted from me_

_How is this real_

And it's completely dark now, the sun is gone, no light except that faintest glow from the millions of stars overhead, so dark that I can't see him anymore except for the silhouette of his head against the stars, and he is so cold that I start to shake, and the shaking won't stop.

_James_

And it's not just the shaking, there's a physical pain too, like the cold slice of a knife between your ribs that twists and scrapes hot bone, like the dull aching in your head once it hits the floor, shredding itself on broken glass.  

_James please_

And now I'm screaming, too, screaming at the pain, screaming at him, at the unfairness of it, at this stupid fucking reality that I don't understand.

_Beloved please_

And suddenly he's warm again, warmer than me, and his arms are wrapped around me, I feel the biobed beneath me, and I pull back to see the silhouette of his head against the stars outside the window of my hospital room.

_It is all right all right I am sorry_

And I don't believe, don't trust, so I push into him again, and this time he waits for me, lets me meet him, lets me feel his heat beneath my mouth and hands as I make sure he's alive, make sure his mouth and cheeks and eyes and forehead and throat are warm and alive, before he lays me, gasping with fear, back on the pillow.

_I am sorry_

And I cling to his hand, not letting go, not letting him go, until my grip weakens and my hand opens, until I fall fitfully back to sleep as his other hand sifts through my hair.

_and never parted_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will make a *lot* more sense if you've read "Compeer" first, but if not, that's OK too.


	27. Jim (8)

 

Morning, pretty early by the look of it outside.  No one in the room with me right now, no Bones, no Spock, and thank God, no Boyce -- I don't care if I never see that tool again.

I should be enjoying the chance to be alone, to try to put together the pieces of the last few days without anyone hanging over me, but I badly have to take a piss, and the distance between me and that bathroom door looks pretty manageable.  I test my legs -- flex, extend, yeah, I think I can make it.  Legs over the edge, hands push off the mattress, feet hit the floor -- uh-oh -- floor tilts, arms pinwheel, I hit the floor with my knees, hard, and pitch forward into the rolling bedside table, face-planting right onto one of the casters. I can actually feel the skin under my eye socket split, a bruise already stretching the cut open, and as I lie panting on the floor, stunned just enough to be immobile but not enough to dull the pain of having --yeah, there it is -- knocked out a tooth, I think,  _that was pretty fucking dumb_.  

Not the first time I've had that idea this morning.  Because I've already hashed over what happened last night and decided that, between freaking out about Spock traipsing through my dead brain and waking up crying from some crazy dream with his face between my hands, I'm not just fucking dumb, I'm going fucking nuts.        

It's hard to explain -- it's like things that should stay down are getting harder and harder to keep down.  I don't know if it's being here in a hospital, where you feel a little helpless anyway (case in point: lying on the floor like a fucking moron while my mouth fills with blood) or whether it's the whole dying thing, but the walls are getting thin, my hold on what's on the outside and what stays in is slipping, and I think it's only a matter of time before everyone sees it.

Check that -- I'm not worried about everyone.  Bones already knows almost everything there is to know about me, all the idiotic hang-ups I have and all the crap-ass shitty things I've done, and he still puts up with me, so I feel like he could dig around in my head and not come up with a whole lot that would surprise him.  But as far as everyone else, it's killing me to think about what it is they could see if I keep unraveling like this. And it absolutely paralyzes me to think about what Spock could already have seen, and how much more -- or how little else -- it would take to send him running.

Because I have a huge hang-up concerning Spock, and I'm not saying it's rational or reasonable or anything other than (say it with me) fucking nuts.  But ever since he put me at that lectern in front of the entire Academy and made me defend myself for hacking his dumbass Kobayashi Maru program, I've needed to prove to him that he was wrong about me, that I'm more than just a cheating cadet with nothing between his ears but a pretty face and a fuck-you attitude.  And the more I think about it, the more I think that recent events are not exactly in my favor on that score.  Believing anything that shithouse rat Marcus said to me was epically dumb, but nothing compared to giving Khan, a.k.a. Shithouse Rat #2,  full access to the _Vengeance_ and basically handing him a gift-wrapped Weapon of Mass Destruction.  Right now I can't defend that there's anything between my ears at all.  

Pike was probably right.  I should give up command, go back to the Academy, learn how to do things the right way, in the right order, through the proper channels.  Keep my head up and try not to care what everybody else is thinking:  _There he is, the fuckup who got his command because of who his daddy was, who leapfrogged over a shitload of qualified candidates to snag command of the pride of the fleet and didn't deserve a bit of it.  Look at him now, dirtside and demoted and back in cadet reds, humiliated.  How the mighty have fallen.  Cautionary tale, kids, pride goeth before a fall._

But I think I'd do all right if I get to keep Spock as my first.  As long as I don't go dropping him into any more volcanoes. 

And that's another thing that sticks in my mind, swirling like a turd in a toilet.  Another thing Pike was right about.  What other captain in the history of forever has put his first in that kind of danger?  Answer: none, because they actually considered the consequences.  But me?   _Hey, man, I got this cool idea to, like, save this alien population, and all you have to do is drop down into fucking hell and probably die in horrible agony.  You down with that?  Cool.  Plan B?  Nah, Plan B's are for suckers._   And how would he ever forgive me for that?  How could he?  

Yeah, this is the mind he had the pleasure of exploring.  I should sell tickets.

_Captain, I assure you, nothing in your mind warrants concealment from me._  Direct quote. I know he's lying.  Because beyond the surface mess is a whole different level of evil shit that I take out and look at occasionally, polishing it to enjoy with horrified fascination before packing it up and pushing it way back down where it belongs.  Stuff not even Bones knows about, but that Spock just might, now.  

Fuck.  It's only a matter of time until everything falls apart.

Meanwhile, I'm still here drooling blood on the floor, evidence that I'm just as much of an asshat as he thinks I am.  And hey, great, here comes another chance to prove it, because now I hear his footsteps coming down the hallway toward my room.

How do I know it's him?   After months of listening for just that step on the bridge, I know it, hell yeah.  Months of timing my pause and turn and seemingly surprised blink and smile and  _Hey, Spock_.  Months of accidental meetings right around dinner time,  _Oh, hey, you eaten yet, no?  Care to join me?_   Months of insomnia when I can't clear my mind and have to get up and walk the ship and end up finding him in a corridor or the rec room or the gym, like my restlessness led me to him.

I could actually convince myself that it's not so bad to passive-aggressively stalk my XO if it weren't for the evil shit.  Most of the time I keep it down, letting it out only now and then the way Scotty hoards a bottle of scotch and pours out a few sips only on special occasions.  The scenarios are few but they're depraved enough to get me killed if Spock finds out about them.    

From the sound and pace of his footsteps right now, I know he's holding his shoulders just a little hunched and leaning forward as though his head wants to get where he's going before his feet do, the Spock version of Get the Fuck Out of My Way.  And I don't know how I can read this from the sound of his footsteps, but I can see him frowning, exasperated, shaking his head, just as clear as if he were in front of me. And I can even hear him --  _Oh, James.  It would have been prudent to wait for assistance._   How fucked up is that?

Okay, granted, maybe not as fucked up as perving on him.  Sometimes I can't even talk to him face to face because I don't know where to look, so I end up looking over his shoulder, or sometimes at the tip of his nose, so he won't notice me staring into his eyes or at his mouth.  Because once I get hooked on one or the other, the evil shit bobs to the surface, like a dead body in a lake, and I won't be hearing the analysis he's giving me on the latest infrared scan data of the planet below.  Oh, no.  I'll be thinking about those lips and where I want them, I mean, where on _me_ , and where I'd put mine, what I'd do to him, with my hands and my fingers, and where I'd want his, what he looks like under his clothes, what he'd feel like everywhere, what he'd look like when he's excited, aroused, coming in my hand or my mouth or my...

Yeah, I know.  Dying didn't fuck with my brain after all; I was already fucked up, long before.

Got to push all that back down now because he's here.  I can't see all of him, not because of the blood in my eye (which I can already tell is going to be an epic mess) but because the angle is wrong, and the only thing I can see is his feet appearing in the doorway.  I watch with my good eye as those feet hesitate for just a fraction of a second before moving to circle the biobed, coming to rest near my head as he looks down at me.

Pause.  Turn.  Blink.  Smile.   _Hey, Spock._


	28. Spock (7)

 

A celebrated Human playwright once penned the words, "Parting is such sweet sorrow."  Upon reflection, I am tempted to conclude that he was mistaken, for it is difficult to conceive of how parting from a loved one can be anything other than painful, with nothing resembling sweetness to recommend it.

My mind is preoccupied with the topic as I review the recent interactions between the captain and myself.  I feel satisfaction at my having successfully maintained my promise to Nyota to release the captain from any association we may have beyond that of common friendship and collegiality.  Accordingly, I have determined that there shall be no more unnecessary contact between us, and thus far, I believe I have succeeded rather admirably, despite my inclination to seek out and maintain such contact.  But the bond suffers from such neglect; it is naturally strengthened by regular physical gestures between bondmates, and, having been thus denied by my resolve, it aches steadily, incessantly, to the point where the captain himself sensed its discomfort and responded thereto.  And in that, perhaps, I can indeed find sweet sorrow.

For the first time, he sought out my mind during his dream state last night, indicating an intuitive awareness of the link between us.  My pledge to Nyota obviates my directly informing him of the bond, and it delights me that he has discovered its existence, if only at the subconscious level, for himself.

I rejoiced at his presence in my mind.  I rejoice still.

Yet this morning he is as before, as always, pleasant and affable toward me, but nothing more.  The brief (and necessary) contact between us as I lifted him off the floor and back into the bed yielded no impressions of his emotional state save embarrassment, annoyance at the pain of his injuries, and concern as to how this accident would affect his recovery. I sensed no recollection of his dream last night, of my aborted attempt to sever the bond, of the distress so acute that it warranted my hands on his shoulders to waken him to awareness and justified the contact he sought to ensure that I had not abandoned him.  

I recall the sensation of his hands on my face, his lips on my eyes and mouth and brow, with distinct pleasure.  I shall treasure this memory as I do all the others, more so perhaps because of the urgency I felt in his touch, the fleeting need he felt for me that evaporated as soon as he regained full consciousness.  

Fleeting, perhaps, but precious nonetheless, its value enhanced by its very transience.

He is dozing now, having successfully (with my assistance) relieved himself in the rest room after his encounter with the bed table, his facial lacerations mended and another soft breakfast consumed (slowly, as he has to take care in chewing while his displaced tooth sets).  There is something strangely vulnerable about his face as it sleeps, a relaxation of the habitual tightness around his eyes, a surrendering of the obligations he carries with him at all times, so at odds with his youth.  Particularly now, with his right eye puffed and discolored, he resembles more an exhausted child in the aftermath of a physical altercation than the captain of a starship.

The temptation to touch him has never been so strong.  Ironic, since I may not.  I gaze with longing at the hand that rests on the blanket in front of me, at the creases in its palm that call to me to trace them, at the thumb with its wanton, fleshy pad, at the calloused fingers that curl seductively toward me, beckoning me.

But I resist.  I feel the outline of Nyota's gift in my pocket and know that I cannot betray her further.

Dr. McCoy will be here momentarily to take him to his physical therapy appointment, thereby affording me a chance to rest.  But my mind remains fully awake, stubborn in its determination to enjoy his presence until such time as it is removed from me.

 


	29. Bones (8)

 

Nyota's apartment had that sterile feel of a home that's been set up for a while but not really lived in.  Kind of like a doctor's home in some ways.  The decor was tasteful, exquisite without being trashy, but also slightly impersonal, as if the person who chose the furniture and the art had selected it for someone else's use.  

I looked around as she hung up her coat in the hall closet.  Two bedrooms, one of which was occupied; the other, not.

She nodded at my unspoken thought.  "I reserved this apartment over a year ago, when I heard the owner was planning on selling.  It was for Gaila and me to share when we graduated."

I don't often think of that day, when Nero showed up and stole their youth, and it occurred to me that she must think about it all the time, with such a glaring prompt to remind her.  I slid an arm around her and pulled her to me.

She let her face bury itself in my chest for a few moments before pulling away.  "Leonard, I want to you have the other room.  It only makes sense.  You living in that hotel is ridiculous, you can't keep it up."  She picked up a key chip from a small table in the entryway and pressed it into my hand.  "Here.  Take it."

I turned the chip over in my hand, thinking.  "If you let me use this to check on you over the next couple of days, we can talk about something more long-term later.  Right now I'm just going from one day to the next."

Her voice was urgent.  "You have to think about yourself.  You can't keep living for other people."

"I'm not," I smiled.  She wasn't convinced.

"Come back for dinner, before your shift.  I'm not cooking, but I'll get you better take-out than the hospital cafeteria can offer.  And you can have a real shower here instead of using the staff rest room."

I wondered how she knew about the shitty hospital staff showers as I slid the key chip into the pocket of my scrub pants.  "I'll be back in twelve hours.  Sooner if you let me sleep in your spare bed."

She opened the front door and stood aside to let me pass.  "Deal."

 

***

 

I couldn't believe the sight that met my eyes when I walked into Jim's room half an hour later.

"Blast it, man, I turn my back on you for what, an hour?  What the hell happened?"

Jim grinned at me, his face looking like he'd just gone ten rounds with a drunk Klingon.  "Had a little accident.  Nothing major."

Spock was less amused.  "Doctor, the captain attempted to walk unaided, with the thoroughly predictable results you see before you."

I swear my eyes rolled to the back of my head.  "Goddamnit, Jim.  Have a care for all the effort we've put into keeping you alive, will you, before you decide to do something that could kill you."  I backed the wheelchair up to his bed and held it steady as he slid himself into it.  "Now let's go practice walking the sensible way."

It turned out that "sensible" and Jim didn't get along too well.  The physical therapist was delighted at first to have someone of Jim's charm and reputation as her patient, and the first fifteen minutes were actually pretty harmonious as Jim demonstrated his near-normal upper extremity strength and coordination, although his fine motor skills still needed work.  But his spirit of cooperation vanished the moment she brought out the walker.

"I'm not a hundred years old, Bones, I'm not using that fucking thing."

I shook my head, heavy and buzzing with fatigue, at his orneriness.  "If you end up leaving this place in a wheelchair instead of walking out under your own steam, you may as well be a hundred years old, and I'll get you a crocheted lap rug to prove it.  Now listed to Patrice and get on that damn walker!"

By the time the hourlong PT appointment was up, he had made two and a half circuits around the room on the hated walker, muttering curses the whole way.  I saw his arms shaking as he sank back into the wheelchair and closed his eyes, his face sweaty and pale.

The therapist was encouraging.  "Captain, that's very good, excellent really.  I'm sure Dr. Boyce will be thrilled with your progress."

"Boyce can suck my dick," he mumbled through his swollen lip.  I smiled at her and shrugged --  _What are you gonna do?_  -- as I wheeled him out of PT and toward the lift.  By the time the lift doors closed behind us, he was asleep, his head lolling back against my hand.

 

***

 

Phil was waiting for us when we got back to the room, almost as if Jim's profanity had conjured him up.  And he'd brought someone with him.

"Carol!"  

I wondered for a split second how she'd managed to violate Boyce's No Visitors order until I remembered that he and Alex Marcus went way back; he'd probably changed Carol's diapers.  Hard to imagine that now as I watched him study the chart, his tanned face frowning above the white contrast collar of his shirt.

Spock took the wheelchair and pushed it to the other side of the biobed while Carol and I embraced.  "It's wonderful to see you," I said.  "Look how good he's doing."

We pulled apart to look at Jim, who wasn't actually looking his best at that moment -- mouth hanging open in sleep, face all beat to hell, cradled in Spock's arms like an overgrown baby as he transferred him from the wheelchair to the bed.  From the brilliance of her smile, it was plain she didn't care.

Phil made it clear that  _he_  cared.  "What happened here, Leonard?  I thought I'd left our young man in good hands, but now I see you let him take quite the tumble."

Spock interrupted before I could speak.  "Dr. Boyce, the fault was mine.  Dr. McCoy was still on shift, and I foolishly left the room for 10.71 minutes to attend to my own hygiene.  When I returned, I found the captain on the floor, having sustained the injuries you see."

Damn Vulcan sticking up for me again.  I cut him a dirty look -- I can fight my own battles, if they're worth fighting, and this one wasn't.

He didn't see my look, occupied as he was with straightening out Jim's legs on the bed, pulling the sheet up to his waist and tucking it in, then laying Nyota's blanket on top.  His hands were gentle as he lifted each arm in turn to place them on top of the bedsheets.

His face was a mask when he turned to face me, but I'd already seen it.  _Goddamn._  It had been right in front of me, all this time.

If Carol saw it, she gave no sign as she moved to the other side of the bed.  She laid one hand on Jim's upper arm and the other on his hair, combing through it lightly with her fingers until he groggily opened his eyes.

"I brought you a visitor, Captain," said Phil from across the room.  "Least you can do is wake up and say hello."

He struggled to focus on her face.  "Hey."  

Her million-watt smile brightened even more.  "Hey yourself."

"You gonna be here for a while?"

She nodded.  "Go ahead and sleep.  When you wake up we'll have lunch and I'll show you the gifts I brought you from the crew."

His eyelids dropped to close before he managed to nod in return.

She turned back to me, and I could see her eyes brimming with tears.  "He does look good.  Wonderful.  I can't believe it, truly."

"He's been getting the best possible care since he's been here."  Just like Phil to put in a plug for good old Starfleet Medical whenever possible.

"I'm sure that's true, Uncle Phil, thank you so very much."  She smiled at him but moved to hug me again, tightly.  She'd been there when we brought him back, she knew, and that was enough for me.  

"And Mr. Spock, I can see you've had more than a little to do yourself as well, these past few weeks.  Nyota must be missing you quite badly."

Maybe she had seen something, after all.  I kept my expression neutral.

"Indeed."

Sometimes it's amazing how bitchy Spock can be.

Phil made a few more notes before hanging the PADD back on the wall.  "Well, it looks like PT went well today.  Just a little grumpy about the walker, were we?" 

I nodded.  "He'll do better next time.  We're on again for 0930 tomorrow morning."

"Wonderful.  Gentlemen, Carol, I'll see you this afternoon."

She closed the door behind him and turned to face us, her smile disappearing like the sun behind storm clouds.

"You have got to get him out of here.  Now."

Spock was a statue.  "Why, Dr. Marcus?"

"I overheard Uncle Phil comming another MD, ordering a blood draw.  They want to study him, to find out how he was able to recover so quickly."

I closed my eyes and nodded.  The order for a blood sample was news to me; it wasn't on the chart, which means Phil kept it a secret on purpose.  And I figured it wouldn't stop with just one blood draw.

'I'd take some heat for it but I can order his release.  No way I can get that pushed through before tomorrow but we can hold Boyce off on the draw as long as someone stays with Jim at all times."   I didn't want to discharge him until he was stronger on his legs and had demonstrated normal bowel function, but those could be handled with outpatient therapy and self-reporting.  As long as someone stayed with him and brought him in for his PT appointments, he'd probably do okay.

I looked at Spock, but I didn't have to ask, and we both knew it.

"Doctor, we will need a place to stay once you release him.  I am not aware of his having any living quarters other than those on the  _Enterprise_  and at the Academy, neither of which is sufficient for his needs at the present time."

I pulled my hotel key chip out of my pocket and handed it to Spock.  "Room 5042.  It's only got one bed but there's a pull-out bed in the sofa."

"What about you, Doctor?"

I smiled as he pocketed the key chip before I answered.  "I've got another place to stay."

 


	30. Jim (9)

 

I've never liked sleeping -- way too much of a waste of time.  I'd rather party all night, fuck all night, even work all night when things get tight, and it annoys me off that, sooner or later, I hit the point where I just can't go on anymore and have to pass out.  Then I wake up, pissed that I just wasted a shitload of time being useless when there's so much to get out and do.

That kind of got turned on its ass when I ended up in here and for a while couldn't even open my eyes without getting tired. And it could actually be nice having nothing to do, no ship to get back to yet, nothing pressing on me other than rest and sleep (if sleep didn't come with those nightmares).  But I can feel all these little things starting to nag at me and remind me there's payback headed my way for all this (as Bones would say) dilly-dallyin'.  This whole clusterfuck with Boyce is one of those things; we've got plans for a good old-fashioned duck-and-run tomorrow, and I'm pretty sure that some amount of shit will hit the fan over that.  

But right now, sitting up in bed after a nap and two full meals (Spock thinks I'm going to barf up the second one, but he's wrong), studying the chess board he brought down with him from the  _Enterprise,_  I'm feeling pretty satisfied.  It's like I'm calmer somehow, better than earlier. All the evil shit that bubbled up this morning has settled back down where it belongs, and I'm relaxed, effortlessly happy, and kicking Spock's ass at chess for the second time today.  Life is so fucking good.

It wasn't looking so good this morning, after falling out of bed and then getting the shit kicked out of me in the physical therapy session, and I honest to God couldn't even think anymore from exhaustion.  But I could feel it while I was sleeping afterward, the strength returning to my legs like water flowing into a dry river bed, like healing was a thing you can sense rather than a process.  And when I woke up, I was able to get up and go to the head by myself (although he still made me use the stupid fucking walker), and I was starving for lunch even though I'd just had breakfast.  And that shit tasted  _good_ , too.  Then I got a shower from Bones and was able to stand up for it, so even if I'm stuck with the walker, at least I don't have to get my balls washed sitting down.  A shave from Carol and a change of clothes and I feel on top of the fucking world.

_Oh, yeah.  Queen to e7.  Checkmate, baby.  Didn't see that coming, did you?_   

I love it when he looks pissed.

There's something else going on, too, something else that happened when I slept today, and I don't have my mind wrapped around it quite yet, but I'm getting there.  For the first time since I've been here, I didn't have one of those freaky dreams, and I'm hoping it's because my brain is recovering too, moving toward...

E4.  D6.  

_Pirc.  Watch out, Spock, I know what you're up to, gonna take the third one too._

I was going to say "normal," but that's not what I mean. It's like I had another place to go, another level that's between being fully awake and dreaming, where I can still think but I don't see or feel what's physically around me.  Being there gave me a pleasant, floating feeling, like every part of me was supported by a dense fluid that swayed around me, rocking me.  And what was weird was that I usually want to jolt myself awake, to quit sleeping and get to the next thing, but when I felt that warmth around me, I just wanted to lie still and enjoy it.  I could feel myself getting more stable, like all the shit that clogs my mind was dissolving while my body got stronger.  Kind of like meditation, I guess, but I've never had the patience for meditating (seems like another fucking waste of time) so I wouldn't really know.  Maybe more like hypnosis, but someone tried to hypnotize me once as part of a psych project at the Academy and it totally didn't work, so I wouldn't really know about that either, I guess.

_Enjoy that strong center, my friend.  You're going down soon._

So that's where I was this morning, after the PT session from hell, I was in that space, and it felt so awesome just to float and sway and heal and soak up the energy, so even though I already knew I was hungry and needed to take a piss, I decided to stay there a while longer.  And I could feel my legs stretched out and strengthening in the waves, and my arms floating out by my sides, one of them linked with someone else's, and I turned my head to look over, and it was Spock, and he was smiling. 

 

_This is what is real._

_It's fucking amazing._

_Indeed._

_We should stay here._

_We must depart at some point.  We have much to do._

_I don't want to do anything right now.  Just be here with me._

_Very well._

 

And it  _was_  fucking amazing, how easy it was to let go of the bullshit that brings me down and just be there, in that place, not worrying about what's in the past or what's coming up, just feeling myself getting put back together better than I was.  I don't remember everything we said, but I know we had a conversation, nothing heavy, just comfortable and easy. And when I did wake up, finally, it was to find Spock napping in the bedside chair, one hand propping up his head while he slept, the other lying on top of the blanket covering my leg.

 

 


	31. Nyota (4)

 

I heard the door open and the sound of something large dropping to the floor in the front hallway; he'd brought with him a cargo container, mostly empty by the sound of it.  I assumed it held just about everything he owned that hadn't been destroyed.

His eyelashes tickled my neck as he wrapped me up.

"The bed's all ready for you.  I'll wake you up for dinner."

He nodded, released me, and staggered off to the spare room, kicking off his shoes as he walked and falling face-first into the pillows.  He was asleep in seconds, his breathing already heavy and deep by the time I'd backtracked to pick up the shoes and put them next to his bed. I looked at the time: he'd have six hours to sleep if I got him up at 20:00. 

Doctors must have some kind of insanely accurate internal clock, because he woke up exactly three hours later.  I wouldn't say he looked rested, but he did look a little better, especially after I pressed a cup of coffee into his hand.

"You don't have to get up right now.  You still have a few hours."

He shook his head.  "I'm cleaning up, then I'm helping you with dinner."

"Leonard, I'm fine."

"Oh, I know you are.  I'm thinking of myself.  If I don't get that take-out in about half an hour, I'm gonna go haywire."

I ordered dinner from the Thai restaurant down the street -- 20-minute delivery, guaranteed -- while he showered and changed.  By the time he stepped out of the guest bedroom, hair still damp from the shower, I was already spooning the pad thai onto his plate.

"Well, that's real nice, but you know an old bachelor like myself would just eat out of the to-go box."

"Not if you want to live here, you won't."

"A small price to pay," he smiled as he took the chopsticks I offered.

We took our plates to the living room and curled up on the sofa, a glass of white wine for me and the ubiquitous coffee for him.  I nodded at his cup.  "That won't go so well with the fish soup."

"My dear, coffee goes with everything.  And I shouldn't criticize, if I were you; I'm sure alcohol isn't on your list of approved post-op beverages."

I mock-sneered at him.  "It wasn't on the list of things to avoid, either.  At least  _I'll_  get more than three hours of sleep tonight."

He didn't say anything to my jibe, which concerned me more than if he'd snapped back.  I set down my glass.

"Leonard.  I'm serious.  You can't keep this up." 

He looked into his cup, then up at me as he nodded.  "If our plan works out, I won't have to for much longer."

"Plan?"

"I'm discharging Jim tomorrow."

He waited for my reaction, silently acknowledging my reservations, knowing I knew his planned course of action was unwise.  I looked out the front window at the skyline and let the questions form while he slurped his soup.

"He's not physically ready to be released, is he?"

"No."

"So you're discharging him because there's some threat to him if he stays at Medical."

"I think so, yes."

"Something having to do with Khan."

"Bingo."  He set his soup down and leaned toward me.  "Listen, Nyota, I hate to ask you this, but I'd appreciate it if you woudn't let it get around that we used Khan's blood to bring Jim back.  Someone at Medical's getting nosy, and I don't want them using him as a lab rat for any regeneration studies they're hatching."

I thought for a minute.  "The only person I've talked about it with was Carol.  I don't think I've discussed it with anyone else.  Maybe Scotty.  But that's all."

He nodded thoughtfully.  "That sounds about right.  It's no secret that we did CPR on him, got his heart and respiratory function started back up, then popped him in a cryotube.  What happened after that, nobody actually saw, except for Carol, Spock, and me.  So if you and Scotty keep mum, there'll be no one else to go blabbing it around."

"You know I won't say anything.  But wouldn't they be more interested in you than in Jim?   After all, you're the one who carried it all out."

He grinned and picked up his coffee cup.  "Carried out what, CPR?  Any damn fool with a Red Cross certificate can do that."

I got the message: he was going to put himself in the crosshairs again so Kirk wouldn't be.  That spark of anger flared once more.

"You're a complete idiot, you know that?"

He closed his eyes.  "Yeah.  I know."

We finished our meals in silence and he took up our plates while I sat and sipped my wine.  I heard the sound of water running in the kitchen sink as he called out, "You know, you're not as good with chopsticks as I figured you'd be.  You left a lot of noodles on your plate."

I knew better than to tell him I wasn't that hungry, so I said instead, "Maybe I'd be better at it if I ate right out of the box."

"I'd be happy to teach you how, you know."  He reappeared with a fresh cup of coffee for himself and the open bottle of wine to refill my glass.  I could feel my head getting buzzy and the questions getting easier to ask.

"So where will Jim go?  I thought they were sending him back to the Academy before Khan hit Starfleet HQ."

"They were, but if he goes back there, it'll be easy for them to get to him.  I don't know if his old apartment is still available, but the same thing applies there as well."

"So he's going to...?"

He looked straight at me, like he knew my rage would rise up again, like he knew he deserved it.  "He's moving into my hotel room."

"By himself?"

"No."  His eyes were still on me. 

I hadn't had so much to drink that I didn't know exactly what was going on.  I laughed and was surprised that it sounded as genuine as it did.  "And you're okay with that?"

"Any reason I shouldn't be?" 

I looked hard at him, but his expression was bland.  

"Did they teach you to be so inscrutable in med school?"

He raised his eyebrows.  "Me?  You're the one who plays everything close to the vest."

"Okay, then I'll start."  I swallowed most of the wine in my glass and took a breath.  "Spock and I...we...I mean, he..."

This was harder than I thought; I took another sip and forced the words out.  

"He cares about Jim more than he cares about me."

He nodded.  Unsurprised. 

'You knew that," I accused.  "You knew, and you're just... _taking_  it?"

His eyes were gentle.  "What would you want me to do?"

"Tell him!  Tell him how you feel!"

"I had my chance.  I let it go, and I don't regret that decision.  Now I don't know how he feels about Spock aside from a normal amount of affection, but I do know what Spock feels, and if the two of you have decided it's time to call it quits, then maybe it's time for him to have  _his_  chance."

I shook my head.  "I don't know how you can be so charitable."

"Nyota, it's not charity if he was never mine.  It's different for you, I know that, and I'm sorry for you, truly.  But you shouldn't be sorry for me.  I moved on a long time ago."

I drained my glass and held it out to him for another refill.  "What are you, some kind of saint?"

He laughed.  "No, darlin', I'm just an old Georgia cracker."  He sipped his coffee and tilted his head like he was examining me. "Now what about you, if I may ask?  How are you holding up?"

I liked that he was concerned but not prying.  "Okay.  But I have to ask you something.  I don't want Spock to know about my situation yet.  I'd like you not to tell him."

He nodded, unsurprised again.  He'd seen the genetic report on my chart, the one that showed the baby had no Vulcan DNA.  

"Of course not."  He paused, then put down his cup, took the wine glass out of my hand, and moved toward me to enfold me completely.  Maybe it was the wine, or maybe the strain of the past few days, but I fell apart at that simple gesture.

He held me tightly, kissing my hair and forehead as he waited for the sobbing to stop, then handed me a napkin to wipe my face once it did stop, mostly. 

"Why are you so good?"

"Just my nature, ma'am.  And may I add that you don't know  _how_  good I am."

I caught the innuendo and laughed, knowing it was the reaction he was aiming for, as I blew my nose.  "Back off, Leonard.  Just because I invited you to live here doesn't mean I'm going to be your consolation fuck."

"You're not," he smiled, toasting me with his coffee cup.  "But I'd sure like to be yours."

I threw the napkin at him and laughed again, more freely now, and wondered what I'd done to deserve such a friend.

He stayed for another half-hour, chatting easily and catching me up on the day's gossip, before standing and stretching.

"Well, back to the salt mines.  Don't forget to comm Carol or she'll find me and kill me for not telling you.  And I should be back around noon tomorrow, so save those leftovers."

I did, but he didn't come back at noon, nor did I see him at all the next day until evening, when I went to visit him in his hospital room at Medical.

 


	32. Bones (9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we lose our PG rating and move into M territory. Please navigate away now if you are under 18 or squeamish.

 

Dinner with Nyota was the most pleasant evening I'd had in a long time, but I almost regretted not spending more of it sleeping after about an hour into my shift. My head was feeling dull and heavy, like it was a cannonball swiveling around uselessly on my neck, and I had a hard time focusing on the charts and monitors even after borrowing Christine's reading glasses.  The only thing that snapped me back into reality was the occasional visit back to Jim's room, where Spock and I would hash over the details of our plan.  

I'd already put Jim's name further up the PT schedule so that his appointment tomorrow was for 0700 instead of 0930.  I'd accompany him while Spock took their cargo boxes over to the hotel.  Then he'd come back, pick up Jim directly from physical therapy, and shuttle him straight to the hotel to  make sure Boyce wouldn't get a shot at him during morning rounds.  By the time he saw Jim again, it would be as an outpatient thanks to the discharge order I'd queued into the system earlier tonight.  The only weakness I saw in the plan was the risk that Phil would catch the discharge order and countermand it, but since he's a day shift kind of guy and I'm nights, I doubted he'd figure it out until it was too late.

Another potential fly in the ointment was if Phil was gutsy, or desperate, enough to try to get the blood sample without Jim's consent, either within or outside of Medical.  Time was running out for them; it would only be a week at most before the longest-lived plasma components from the transfusion would be undetectable in Jim's circulation, so if they wanted that blood sample, they'd have to act fast.  I figured Spock would be able to keep him safe for that week, but I obsessed about it the entire shift long, my last nerve frazzling itself over the possibility that they'd track him down in time.

When morning finally came I took Jim on down to physical therapy while Spock stayed behind to pack up their stuff.  The stretching and flexibility exercises went well, and the strength he had gained since just the other day was unbelievable.  But when the time came to ambulate around the room, he flat-out refused to use the walker, asking instead if he could support himself solely on his legs, however much of himself they could hold, with me as his backup.  Patrice wasn't thrilled about it, but he gave her The Look until she folded like a cheap suit.  

So that's how we came to be staggering around like drunks as we circumnavigated the room, his one hand on the rail and the other on my shoulder.  He hadn't lost much mass, if any, over the past two weeks; his muscles were smaller but also denser and more compact, thanks to Khan's serum, so that his weight on me was almost crushing.  We make it four times around the PT room, the last quarter lap increasingly wobbly and weak until his legs gave out suddenly and he dropped toward the floor.  I caught him reflexively, my hand under his armpit hauling him back up.

"Thanks man,' he said, tightening his arm around my neck to pull himself back up and laughing as he leaned on me, and for a moment it was like there was nothing wrong with him, with either of us, that we were just horsing around, young and stupid like we were back in the Academy. 

Well, he was young, and I was stupid, back then, when I had my chance with him.

I'd been thinking about that evening all shift long, ever since I mentioned it to Nyota.  It was the evening of the day he beat Spock's  _Kobayashi Maru_  test, and he was just as frisky as a colt, full of piss and vinegar and so proud of himself he could bust a gut.  He wanted to celebrate his victory, so he dragged me out to a hole in the wall a few blocks off for a night of drinking.  He was in fine form, too, hot and lean in a worn t-shirt just a little too tight and a smile like a million bucks, and the girls were flocking around him like they knew he was the shit.  I just hung back, sipping my beer and watching him flirt and enjoying the view.

It was like he knew I was watching and kind of getting off on it, because he kept glancing my way with a look that said,  _Don't you want any of this?_   And I'd shake my head  _No_  and keep sipping, and the look in his eyes, on his face, was questioning at first, then speculative, as the drinks, and the girls, kept coming. 

Finally one of the women, a twenty-something brunette with legs all the way up to her neck, came on over to where I was leaning on the table.  "Hey, cutie-pie, why you here all by your lonesome?"

I shrugged.  "Just shy, I guess."

Her smile was worth a heap too, with even white teeth and a sincerity about it that told me she was neither drunk nor desperate.  

"So, let's sit down somewhere quieter, away from that gaggle"--she nodded at Jim and his female satellites--"and get to know each other."

I let her lead me to a corner table, and she bought me a drink, something better than the cheap beer I'd been downing all evening.  I found out she was a research scientist, that she studied cardiovascular xenophysiology and was working on a three-year project funded by Starfleet, and that she was shipping out the following week with the  _Farragut_.  And when we got up to dance, leaving our empty glasses on that table, she linked her hands around the back of my neck and stood on her tiptoes to kiss me, her breasts pushing into my chest as she nibbled at my lips to part them so she could enter, soft and warm and silky.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder.  "Bones, let's go, I gotta take a leak."

I raised my head, more than a little pissed.  "What, you want me to hold it for you?  Go by yourself, for Christ's sake."  

But that hand kept pushing, and she slipped out of my arms as he drove me backwards toward the rear entrance, past the rest rooms and out the door to the alley behind, to the cool night air and cloudless sky filled with stars.

"Jim, what the fuck, man..."

I got no further before his lips crushed mine, the alcohol heavy on his breath and on his tongue as it ravaged my mouth.  I put up my hands to push him away, and they flattened uselessly against his chest, feeling his nipples peaked from the night air and his arousal, feeling his hardness pushing against my thigh as he kept backing me up until I hit the alley wall, hard.

He had me pinned, one hand still heavy on my shoulder and the other rubbing hard on the bulge in my jeans, his breath hot in my ear as he ground himself against my hip.  "Come on, Bones, I know you want this, I know you love me.  Come on, baby.  Come on."

And God help me, I wanted to.  He was beautiful and terrifying, his muscles just as hard under my hands as I was under his. He wrenched my fly open to see for himself, to reach inside and curl his fingers around me, stroking and pumping as I gasped for air, my head thrown back toward the stars overhead.  His lips moved from my ear across my jaw, bruising a trail back to my mouth, invading, drowning me.

And it all flashed in front of me, how this would go down.  I'd give in because I couldn't help myself, because I did love him,  and I'd become powerless under his touch and let him tear me open, burning a hole in my heart as he sucked and bit at my throat, working me harder and harder, my eyes unseeing as I dissolved into nothingness in his hand, hearing him laugh and letting him push me down, letting him push into me, hearing him grunt and cry out as he fucked me until neither of us had anything left.  And then the daylight would come, and the silence and uncomfortableness would begin, and the end of the semester would mean that he or I would have found a new roommate to escape the situation that we'd made, and we'd nod to each other across a classroom or as we walked past each other on the quad, until eventually we wouldn't bother to nod at all, each of us going on our own path, apart.

He didn't know, couldn't predict, any of that, because he'd never been in love, probably didn't even know what love was.  But I had, and I did, and I could see it coming like it had a road map leading to it with a big red X marking the spot.

 _No._   

No, that was not how it was going to happen, I was not going to lose this man, not if I had anything to do with it.

So I pulled my head away, laughing like it was no big deal, and said, "Yeah, you know I love you, but if you fuck me, you'll have to marry me, and you know how good  _that_  would work out."

I'd hit just the right note.  He snickered in my ear and gave my cock one last squeeze.  "God, you're a buzzkill, McCoy," he breathed as he lapped at my neck.  "At least buy me another drink."

That, I could do.

By the time the evening ended, I practically had to carry him home, him leaning on me just as he was leaning on me now, both of us giggling like girls.  And it was a like a joke between us after that, how Jim got so drunk that night that he hit on his own roommate, a last night of boozy bad-assery and fucked-uppedness before Nero showed up to turn the Federation upside-down.

Him leaning on me now, just like that night, his breath once again hot in my ear.  "I'm done here.  Let's comm Spock."

That, I could do, too.

I got him into a wheelchair and pushed him out to the lift where Spock was waiting. I transferred the push handles over to him.

"Wait, Bones, you're coming, right?"

I shook my head. "No, kid.  If I disappear too, they'll know to come to the hotel.  I've got to stay here, make like everything's normal, keep them off your back.   Just for a few days."

 _"NO!"_   His voice was suddenly deep, his hand shooting out to grasp my wrist so hard that I had to bite my cheek to keep from crying out, the bones in my forearm grinding sickeningly against each other. I held my ground and stared him down, those eyes darkening to grey as he saw he wouldn't win this one.  

He dropped my wrist.

I stepped back and looked over to Spock.  "Get him out of here."

 

***

 

Phil was waiting for me when I got back to Jim's room, the PADD with his chart on it dangling from his fingers.  He shook it at me as I crossed the room to inspect the wall monitor.

"Leonard, what's this discharge order I see here?  A misunderstanding, am I right?"

I formed my face into a look of innocent surprise.  "Misunderstanding?  No, I signed the order.  He was ready to go."

Phil's expression shifted minutely, but it was enough to make that switch from friendly to suspicious.  "That boy couldn't have walked out of here on his own power.  He needs to be here for at least another week."

So he did know the time frame.  My gut tightened as I faced him with what I hoped came across as the normal irritation of a professional disagreement.  "Phil, he just did four rounds of the physical therapy room nearly unaided.  He was going crazy in here so I sprung him.  He'll be coming back three times a week for PT, he'll be fine." 

"You've made a grave error in judgment, Leonard," he growled, and I recoiled in honest surprise this time at his change in tone, at his face twisting in anger.  I looked at his perfectly starched white lab coat, the hand-stitched spread collar shirt and silk tie beneath it, and any good sense I ever had evaporated as something inside my tired brain just snapped.  

"No, I don't think I have.  I think I've done the best thing for my patient, and that's no error according to the oath we all swore to uphold.  But you weren't planning on doing the same, were you, you pompous prick, unless that's an informed consent agreement in your pocket?  Or are you just happy to see me?"

He swung at me with a perfect tennis forehand.  I couldn't avoid it in time; the aching weight of my head was too great to move that quickly, and the PADD he was holding caught me right on the bridge of my nose, breaking the nasal bone with an audible crunch.  I stumbled back against the monitor as his free hand shot out to pin me by the shoulder against the wall.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"  he snarled.

I choked on the gush of blood pooling in the back of my throat, coughing it out in a spray that misted his sleeve as I started to collapse downward against the wall, my vision darkening but my hearing still acute enough to pick up a gasp of surprise from the orderly in the open doorway.  And suddenly it was nighttime, in the back alley of a dive bar, the white lab coat now a white t-shirt, the hand on my shoulder not Boyce's but Jim's.

_Come on, baby.  Come on._

He was waiting for my answer, his breath tickling my ear, his hands on me rough and demanding, his heat radiating toward me through the dark night air.

I laughed fearlessly up at the stars, their brightness dimming and finally disappearing into blackness as I fell.

_Yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to accept that Christine apparently doesn't exist in the AOS universe except as an anecdote, so she and her presbyopia make an appearance here.


	33. Spock (8)

 

It appears that we have been successful in making our escape from Starfleet Medical.  The doctor and I were careful in our preparations; I purchased and delivered, along with the cargo containers, a week's supply of food for the captain and myself, late last night when there would have been few individuals about to notice the relative rarity of a Vulcan's presence among them.  Dr. McCoy also provided me with a supply of the medications he believes the captain might require to promote his recovery, so barring any unforeseeable emergencies, we shall not have to leave the room for some time.  The doctor and I also agreed to maintain communicator silence between us in order to perpetuate the impression, among any who may be surveilling him, that he has no knowledge of our whereabouts.  While this precaution is, I believe, necessary to ensure the captain's safety, it fills me with no small amount of trepidation that we will be unaware of the doctor's predicament once it is discovered, as it may already have been at this moment, that we are gone. 

Room 5042 is not on the fifth floor of the hotel building as I had predicted, but rather on the 50th floor, its altitude above the city affording what Humans would appreciate as an impressive view. It is small but luxurious, reflecting a certain celebrity to which the doctor did not allude when he described the manner in which he was afforded lodging by Starfleet.  Much of the living space is occupied by a large bed upon which are piled multiple pillows of various sizes atop an unnecessarily voluminous duvet.  The remaining space is occupied by a small sofa, an armchair, a single desk and chair, and a chest of drawers in which I have already stored our small amount of clothing.  The diminutive footprint of the room will be an advantage for the captain as he will have little difficulty navigating about it without the wheelchair; indeed, once I have removed him from it to the bed, it will be necessary to fold the wheelchair and store it in the single tiny closet until such time as he may require it, if ever again, there being insufficient floor space to maintain it in its open configuration.

I turn my attention to him.  The trip from the hospital to the hotel was not lengthy, both establishments being on the Starfleet Headquarters shuttle route and one being therefore easily accessible from the other.  But the relative lack of sleep last night as we made our plans and the exertion associated with his physical therapy session this morning have combined to exhaust him; he was asleep by the time I wheeled him out of the shuttle toward the hotel entrance.  

It will be necessary to make physical contact with him in order to lift him out of the chair and put him to bed.

I begin by facing him and pulling his upper body toward me so that I may remove his jacket.  My movements are expedient and the contact is limited, the only direct touch being between his face and the skin of my neck as his head rests on my shoulder.  Once the jacket is off I slip one arm beneath his legs and the other around his upper back to lift him up and out of the wheelchair, delivering to that item a push with my foot to roll it out of the way so that I can turn around in the cramped space and seat myself on the bed.

And it is there that my resolve flags.  I should lay him down immediately, pull the duvet over him and retire myself to the sofa, but I hesitate, and in that small space of time, I am lost.

His head is heavy on my shoulder, his slow, steady exhalations cooling the skin there and stirring it into gooseflesh.  I can feel the movement of his closed eyes against the bend of my neck just as I can feel the touch of his mind against mine while he dreams, and I marvel at how his Human mind has already learned to navigate the bond, instinctively reaching out through it even without his conscious apprehension.  Were the situation different, were he to return my affection, we would be exceptional among bondmates in the rare strength of our connection and the harmony of our minds.

_I cannot_

I cannot refuse him; the bond will not be denied. I answer his mind's questioning touch with my own, and his mouth curves into a smile against my throat.

_I am not_

It is too much.

_The blood rises_

_His weight on my bare thighs stirs me he knows he laughs he pushes at my chest I fall backwards onto the bed he is astride me on top of me enveloping me around me riding me up and down and laughing breathless his skin damp his eyes blazing my hands are on him pulling stroking his eyes close his head arches back he reaches his climax a beautiful sound I cry out too joy amazement and roll him over under me and push quickly eagerly he groans helpless with each thrust until I peak inside him filling him marking him he is mine mine no one else shall ever have him ever again no one_

My eyes snap open.  He sleeps on, apparently untouched by my lustful indulgence and unaware, I am thankful to note, of the spreading wetness in my lap.

I lay him against the pillows, pull the duvet over him, and remove myself to the bathroom to wash.  I am in dire need of meditation.

 

***

 

Two-point-seven-one hours later, having cleaned myself, changed my clothing, and engaged in meditation, I find myself once again in control of my physical being but not much calmed in my thoughts.   

I confess to a certain apprehension, even fear, regarding the loss of mastery I experienced.  I am not a novice in sexual matters and have experienced physical passion several times but never with the complete lack of control that befell me earlier.  I am certain that my parents, my primary reference point for issues relating to bonded individuals, did not lapse so easily as I just did into the depths of carnal desire, for indeed, if they ever indulged in sensualism apart from that which was necessary for my conception, I was never once aware of it throughout my childhood, and I was by nature unusually inquisitive and observant.

And even now, that loss of control taunts me, makes me aware of its presence.  I look down and realize that I am wearing one of his shirts, chosen without conscious volition from the chest of drawers.  

I pull the collar up to my nose and inhale, deeply.

If I cannot curb the impulse to touch him, physically or mentally, if I cannot regain the discipline over my own thoughts and actions that I enjoyed prior to the meld with him, then I see no alternative other than that of removing myself permanently from his presence.

I recall Nyota's third option regarding my response to her challenge: to request reassignment, transfer, to end all contact with me.  I do not desire that action on her part and have even less enthusiasm for it on mine. Yet, while I can conceive of an existence in which I perpetually yearn for one who does not want me, it would be unacceptable not to have the capacity to conceal that unrequited yearning.  And if the events of this morning are any indication, I am in the process of losing that capacity.

I cross the room to the closet to retrieve Nyota's gift from the pocket of my stained pants and sit back down on the sofa to open it, at last.  For my apprehension at its contents has been dwarfed by my decision to leave him, once he has no further need of me, and I cannot think of anything she could give me that would distress me any more.

I am mistaken, as it happens.  Beneath the dainty ribbon and shiny wrapping lies a jewelry box, and inside that box is a delicate chain upon which floats a small cylindrical pendant, muted silver in color and exquisite in taste as she is herself.  And inscribed on it, in the curls and lines of Vulcan script:

_Sadalau nash-veh du_

_I release thee._

She knows our customs too well to have chosen this phrase by accident, the phrase that in ancient times was used to grant divorce to a wronged bondmate by the errant spouse.  In using these words, she has granted me freedom, not only from our association but also from my own proposal to her challenge.

She is telling me that I may have him because she wronged me as well.

I have not felt the pressure of shameful tears behind my eyes since I was a small child, but I do now as I lift the pendant from the velvet-lined box and raise it to the light.  It was her intention all along to release me once I confessed my betrayal to her as she now did hers to me.  My deception and cowardice have been the cause of much more pain than I supposed.

I place the pendant around my neck, tucking it under his shirt so that it rests on my skin.  In the end, it will make no difference; I may not have him because he will never be mine to take.

 


	34. Jim (10)

 

Oh my God

Oh my  _fucking_  God.

Jesus fucking Christ, this is...

This is so fucking awesome.  _Gahhhhhhhh..._

Who do I need to blow to get one of these installed on the  _Enterprise_?  Scotty?  Nah, he'd probably do it for a fifth and a day off to enjoy it.  Yeah.  That's a plan.

Who am I kidding...If I had one on board, I'd never leave my quarters.  Hell, I'd never leave the bathroom.

Oh.  My God.

Why the smallest hotel room in the universe would have the hugest motherfucking bathtub is totally beyond me.  Not that I'm complaining; after almost three weeks of sponge baths and seated showers, this is...I don't know...transcendent, or something.  And it's not just the warm water, or the Epsom salts Spock insisted on adding to it (something something muscle recovery blah blah therapeutic) or the fact that I can stretch out end to end and side to side without even touching the edges because yes it  _is_  just that fucking enormous, but I'm also having one of those moments again, one where I can feel myself getting stronger minute by minute.  Not as quickly as before; I think whatever Khan passed on to me is slowing down, diminishing in its effects.  But that's all right with me because it still creeps me that some part of that nutcase is inside me, working in me and on me in a way that I know I needed but will be happy to be rid of when it goes for good.

Ah, God.

The water is deep enough that I can float without touching the bottom of the tub, and it's easy to imagine that I'm in a much bigger body of water, warm and supportive and safe, and here we go, here I go, I start to feel the gentle swells of the waves as they rock me to that place in between, the place where he is.

_The buoyant force on the object exceeds the weight of the object_

I feel him next to me and turn my head, and he is sleeping in the waves, rising and falling with the motion of the water, and I nudge him with my arm

_Wake up I'm here_

...and he awakens to smile at me, but he looks sad.

I feel a restless energy inside and know I don't want to just float, I know I want more from him than just his presence, I want to wipe the sadness off his face, so I turn myself upright, treading water with just the power of my legs while I reach for him with my arms, one hand under his neck to pull him to me.  And he rises to face me, letting me pull him in close by the back of his head until our faces are almost touching, until I have to close my eyes from the nearness of him, and one of us moves in, or maybe both, so that our mouths meet.  And it's just a good as I thought it would be, soft and lush, lips I could suck and bite forever.  And he pushes into me, hot velvet in my mouth, wet, desperate, delicious.

_Ah, God._  

And it hits me all at once what I'm doing, what we're doing, and my legs freeze, I can't move them anymore, and my eyes fly open to see his open as well, the sorrow still there, I haven't taken it away, only added to it because what I'm doing is wrong.  And he pushes away from me, and I feel myself start to sink

_The weight of the object exceeds the buoyant force on the object_

...below the surface of the water until it closes over my head, dark and cold.

_help_

_shit_

I must have fallen asleep because my body jerks, arms and legs going everywhere, splashing water out of the sunken tub onto the tiles on either side, and my head drops back into the water as my back arches and my chest heaves upward, the panicky breath of air I would have taken becoming a full inhalation of bathwater instead.

_shitshitshitshit_

Mom used to make me snort saline to wash allergens out of my sinuses, and I hated it because of the weird drowning feeling of the liquid running through my head, choking me if I forgot to breathe through my mouth.  This is millions of times worse because I can feel my lungs filling up with fluid, the salty water heavy in my chest, pulling me down.  I grab for the side of the tub and try to pull myself up but I can't do more than lift one shoulder out before my hands slip and I sink back down.

_fuck_

_Spock_

_help_

Through the distortion of the water I see the bathroom door swing wide as Spock kicks it open and rushes to me to haul me out of the tub, one hand pulling on my wrist and the other arm wrapping around my midsection in a modified fireman's carry.  He gets my top half out enough to tighten both arms around my lower chest and squeeze

_Goddamn that hurts_

...the water out of me, and a lot of it does come out, cascading onto his feet as he bends me over and squeezes repeatedly

_Stop stop I'm good you're breaking my ribs_

...and he stops the compressions but continues to hold me as I cough out water in huge, braying sobs.

He scoops me up to carry me out of the bathroom, his bare hands on my bare skin.

_Shit shit fuck shit_

Goddamn Vulcan touch telepathy and I didn't have time to prepare.  He'll be able to sense what I was thinking, what I was doing.  I try to fill my mind as I squirm in his arms and croak at him to put me down.

"Spock, I'm fine, put me down, I can walk."

_No I'm fine put me down_

"Come on, goddamn it, let me go!"

_Put me down now no no NO NO NO NONONONONO_

But he won't, he keeps moving toward the bed, and I feel my time running out, I can't keep my thoughts away, and any second now he'll know what a complete and total asshole I am.

So I do the only thing I can think of.  I bite him, hard, on the shoulder, my teeth closing around his collarbone.

He stops in surprise, stutters for a few more steps, then drops me flat on my ass on the bed.  We stare at each other for a few seconds.  He looks stunned.

My voice sounds so fucking stupid and weak. "I told you...to put me down." 

He says nothing as he looks down at his shoulder.  I can see blood seeping through, the oval of my bite mark painting itself on his shirt, my shirt

_What?_

...and he turns back into the bathroom to run water in the sink.

I wrap myself in the comforter and wait for him to come back out.  

He does, shirtless, the bite mark dark green and oozing blood against the white of his skin.  He seats himself on the couch across from me and looks down at his hands.  I honest to God have no idea what to say to him, so I guess it's a good thing that he starts off.

"Captain, I am sorry.  I fell asleep while you were in the bathroom and was not prepared to assist you."

I cough twice, and the thing that my mind has been trying to wrap itself around jumps into sharp focus.

"I knew you were asleep.  How did I know that?"

He does not answer.  I go on, rasping from the water but also from something else.

"How did you know I was in trouble in there?"

Nothing.

"You know...you know what that place is, don't you?"

This time he looks up at me, and the sorrow on his face in my dream is nothing compared to this reality.

_This is what is real_

"What the hell is going on?"

_Beloved please_

_"What did you do?"_

He shudders, maybe from the cold.  "I told you of the meld I performed when Dr. McCoy was reviving you with Khan's serum."

I nod and cough again, a tinge of pink on the comforter.

"What I have not told you is that something else occurred during the time we were melded."

"Something else meaning...what, exactly?"

"We now...share...a connection."

"What kind of connection?"

"A bond.  A type of pledge."

"Pledge to do what?" 

His eyes close.  "To be...together."

I can't even ask the next question in case the answer he has isn't the one I want to hear.  So I move on.

"Did you want that to happen?"

_Yes_

"Did you make it happen?"

"No, it appears to have formed on its own."

"How?"

"I do not know.  Normally the pledge is made during childhood, to a partner chosen by the parents and through a healer.  I myself cannot create a bond."

"Is it permanent?"

"It can be broken by a healer."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He opens his eyes and looks right into mine.  "I wish to maintain the bond.  I was aware that you would not share that desire and would wish its dissolution once you were aware of its presence.  I therefore kept the knowledge of it from you in order that I may enjoy it for as long as possible."

I nod and tug the comforter more tightly around me.

"Get the fuck out."

He stands and moves across the tiny room to pull a fresh shirt out of the dresser before opening the door to the hallway.  It closes behind him with a sigh and a click.

I count to twenty to make sure he's out of earshot, then I get dressed too, disguising myself as much as possible for the shuttle ride back to Medical.

 


	35. Nyota (5)

 

I'd been visiting with Leonard for about half an hour when Kirk appeared, a hooded jacket concealing his hair but not much else, especially not the huge shiner that used to be his right eye.  He was leaning on a cane and panting as if his next step would be his last.

Knowing the potential danger he was putting himself in by coming back, my first thought when he hobbled through the door was,  _What the hell is your problem?_ And that was my second thought, too, but phrased more as a concern than an accusation, because even from across the room, I could tell he looked terrible, freaked out, scared, exhausted.  Done.  I jumped up and closed the door, then helped him over to the chair where he collapsed with a curse and a groan.

Leonard's expression, what I could see of it under the bandages crossing his face, mirrored what I felt.  "Jim, boy?  The hell you doin' here?"

"I could ask you the same question.  I about shit my pants when they told me you were in here as a patient."

"Well, I kinda sassed Phil Boyce, and he took it none too well.  Clocked me upside the head with a PADD.  He was pretty pissed we sneaked you out.  Which, by the way, you're kinda circumventing by being here.  You should get the hell out."

"I will.  I just...Fuck, Bones, I told you you should have come with us.  Why'd you get into it with Boyce?  Look at you, man, you look like total shit."

His words were teasing, but his voice shook.  Maybe he cared more than I gave him credit for.

"Just buying us time.  Phil is cooling his heels in the brig on charges of assaulting a fellow officer; lucky for me, there was a witness.  He won't be after you for a while, and whoever he's working with will be out of luck in a week's time too.  Assuming you actually stay hidden, that is, rather than letting yourself get flushed out of cover like this."

The last words were a rebuke; we both felt it.  Jim blushed pink.

"I...couldn't stay there."

"Everything all right with Spock?"  His tone was kind but careful, inviting only what Jim wanted to say.  I'm not sure I wanted to hear any of it.

Jim shook his head mutely and looked down at the floor, his bruise shocking against the sudden pallor of his face.

Leonard looked at me and angled his head at Jim.   _Go ahead, talk to him._

I tried to make my voice gentle and encouraging like Leonard's, but it didn't sound that way when it came out of my mouth -- metallic, sharp, the question too abrupt.  

"Did he tell you about the bond?"

Kirk's head shot up.  "You  _knew_?"

I nodded.  "He told me a few days ago, when you were still mostly unconscious.  It's why we broke up."

His one good eye widened.  "Broke up."

Leonard squeezed my hand, and I was glad of it; it made it easier to say.

"Yeah, we're done.  He...he wants to be with you.  He has for some time now, months."

_"What!?"_

"It's true.  Vulcan bonds don't just form from a mind-meld.  There has to be...compatibility, a desire for that link."

I could feel the bitterness increasing, leaking out with every word.  Spock had never wanted a bond with me, had never spoken of it, even as a possibility, throughout the years we were together.  

"But...he did this to me, he didn't ask me..."

And here was Kirk, acting like it was some kind of white elephant, an ugly piece of bric-a-brac he didn't want and couldn't get rid of.  I wanted to slap him.  

Apparently, so did Leonard.  "Did what to you, exactly?  Save your life with that meld?  I don't recall you being in any position to object."  

His tone was crisp, businesslike, not soothing anymore, and it startled Jim.  "Bones, it was more than that.  He says we're connected now, whether I like it or not."

"Can you break the connection if it turns out you  _don't_  like it?"

"Yeah, he said we could..."

"Well then,  _hell_ , man, just shut up and get over it."

I felt my jaw drop, actually fall open, at the sudden irritation in Leonard's voice.  Kirk was as stunned as I; he pulled the hood back to run his hand through his hair in disbelief.

"Bones, what..."

"I said shut  _up,_ you selfish, spoiled brat!  You think this comes around every day?  Someone to feel for you, take care of you, watch for you to stumble and pick you up when you do?  Someone who just broke this girl's heart for you?  Someone who saved your fucking  _life_?  What do you think this is, something you can just ignore, or say, 'Thanks but no thanks, I'm fine?'  Most people would kill for what he's serving up to you on a silver platter.  I'm telling you, if you feel anything for that man, you owe it to him to go back there and tell him.  And if you don't, well, you still need to go back there anyway and tell him, because that's just not fucking  _fair_."

I had never seen Kirk speechless until just then.  He tried, though, I'll give him credit for that.

"But..."

"No, I'm not done.  What was it you didn't want him to find out, anyway?  That you care about him?  That you're more than a ship's captain, more than a dick with legs, that you actually have  _weaknesses_?  That you're not the man he thinks you are, that you fall short just like the rest of us pathetic assholes?  Go tell him, for Christ's sake, and quit being such a goddamned  _baby_!"

Jim's head dropped again and his fingers played with the head of the cane he held.  I closed my eyes against a sudden dizziness; I was pretty sure I knew what was coming.

I was right.

"Nyota...?"

I opened my eyes to look at Leonard first, and he returned my gaze levelly, knowing, as he squeezed my hand again.  I turned toward Jim to see him humbled, almost crushed, the fear and pain evident on his face, and my anger at him dissolved.

"It's all right.  You can tell him.  He sort of knows by now, anyway."

I watched as the rest of the color drained from his face, as his eyes closed in slow motion, and felt a rush of pity at his despair.

"I don't think I can.  I don't know how I could."

"Well, you better figure it out quick.  You need to get your ass on back there before they figure out you're here, and you'd better straighten it out one way or the other."  The harshness in Leonard's tone surprised me again, and I glanced down at him to see his eyebrows knit together in a scowl.

I went over to Jim and offered him my arm.  "Here.  I'll walk you as far as the shuttle stop.  But after that, you're on your own. Try not to get kidnapped, okay?"

He leaned on me and the cane to stand up, then pulled the hood back over his head, defeated.  "I'll do my best."

When I got back to the room, Leonard was lying back down, seemingly asleep.  I tiptoed over to the chair to sit next to him and stare down at his ruined face.

He must have felt my gaze because his eyes opened.  "What is it, darlin'?"

"You're the biggest fucking hypocrite I know."

He laughed, but tiredly, as he reached for my hand.  "Now why would you go and say a thing like that?"

A bit of the fury came back.  "Everything you just said to him, everything about someone to pick you up when you fall, all that bullshit.  You were describing yourself."

His eyes closed for a moment.  "Yeah, some of it, I guess."

"So why the hell didn't you tell him how  _you_  feel instead of bitching at him to talk to Spock?" 

He opened his eyes, and I felt a sudden stab of dismay at the expression in them as he looked up at me, an expression that was there for the briefest moment and then abruptly vanished as he rearranged himself.  

"First of all, what I said was _not_ bullshit, young lady; I speak from experience.  And second, let me ask you something.  What if Spock came through that door right now, begging your forgiveness and asking you to come back to him like nothing happened?  What would you say?"

I didn't have to think.  "I'd say no."

"And why is that?"

"Because I know I'm not the one he wants.  He couldn't give me what I need."

Leonard raised my hand to his lips, his eyes now steady and fixed on mine.  "Exactly."

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cane Jim is using is Chris Pike's; I imagine that he "inherited" it, in a way, following Pike's death, and that Spock brought it down with him from the Enterprise. My little tribute to Pike being the father AOS Jim never had.


	36. Spock (9)

I hear his steps in the hallway, a slow but determined gait that pauses for a moment

_Shit I don't have a key chip_

and resumes as I too head for the door, to open it for him.

He pushes past me without a word, dropping the admiral's cane to one side and pulling off his jacket as he moves past the bed toward the window opposite.  I close the door behind him and follow.

"Captain, where have you--"

He whirls unsteadily around to face me, his face contorted with emotions I cannot begin to decode.  I come to a halt directly in front of him, unsure as to how to respond.

"Don't.  Just  _don't_.  I don't have to tell you  _anything_."  

His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright as he glares at me for a moment before suddenly seizing my hand and pulling it to his face, forcing my fingers onto his meld points. 

 _"Do it,"_  he hisses, and I feel the black waves of his anger, some of which is directed at me, some not.

I try to tear my hand away, wary of the intrusion, but his strength is that of Khan, his grip on my hand cold iron.

"Do it," he says again, quieter this time, with despair more frightening than his anger before, but his grasp does not waver, and I cannot withdraw from him.  And then, I have no wish to.  For I am back in that space I have missed so dearly, amid the lightning of his thoughts, the myriad passions that govern him, returning once again to the brilliance of the mind that I have thirsted for these past weeks and feared I would never experience again.

My joy is too great; I sway on my feet, delirious with elation.  But his hand only tightens, painfully, on mine, and his tone is grim as he tells me

_There's more_

and leads me down, from the bright landscape on the surface down into the dark places below.

I have not been here before; these spaces are new to me, these are things I have never seen, things I know he does not open but rarely, even to himself, and I wonder at his ability to conceal them from me before, at the uncommon strength of his mind.  We observe them together, now, my gaze fixed on his eyes, bitter blue pools that fill as I watch and overflow onto his cheeks.

Here is Jim using Gaila to obtain the  _Kobayashi Maru_  code in order to alter it, cheat it, cheat death

_cheat her_

enticing her with his body as a means to an end, as it has always been for him.  And here is his furious embarrassment at being called out, the lingering shame over what I must think of him for his end run around death, for his unwillingness to look it in the face, for his 

_cowardice_

And we go lower to find his guardian Frank holding a furry, squirming creature, a pet he told the boys they could have but is now taking away because they cry too much, whine too much, just like the pup now cries and whines as it struggles to reach its young friends, their faces streaked with tears of rage and grief.   And here is Jim's anger at the unjust cruelty but also his guilt and shame that Frank is right, that it is his fault, that his deficiencies have caused this loss, and he swears to himself that he will 

_never show anyone, ever again_

And here is Sam, the only person in the world Jim has fully revealed himself to, leaving home, leaving him behind, and Jim knows that it is his fault, that he and not Frank drove Sam away, he leaned on him too much, needed too much from him until he fled the suffocation of his 

_stupid kid brother, stupid crybaby_

And here is Jim and the automobile, his father's car that he will never let Frank have, that he will sooner destroy than give up, and as it plunges over the edge of the quarry, the exultation of victory is there, yes, but so is the grief at the destruction of the last thing that connects him to the legend of George Kirk and the guilt that he could not hold on to it, he could not withstand the torment of 

_seeing that asshole drive around in it like he owned it, like he had any right to it, any right to anything that was dad's_

hating his own fragility, hating himself, hating everyone...

And here we are, on the transporter pad, preparing for the rescue of Captain Pike from the  _Narada_ , and he watches me holding Nyota and wishes it were him instead, the shock when he realizes that it is my embrace he craves, my lips on his mouth, my hands on his back, not hers as he first supposed, the comprehension causing him to reel with its force, his mind staggering under its newfound awareness...

_that's crazy fucking crazy what the hell is wrong with you you fucking idiot_

And we go lower, into the cloudy, fragmented memory of a night several weeks ago, the celebration after having cheated the volcano on Nibiru, Jim and Scott and Sulu and Leonard and Nyota, in the captain's quarters, and the bourbon and the wine and the scotch are flowing, and the friends are all inebriated and laughing and telling stories, and she remains, while the others stumble out, to help him clean up the mess they have made of his cabin, and he reaches around her to pick up a shot glass, and she turns toward him, cold and lonely because of my neglect, and kisses him, wraps herself around him, pushes him backwards onto his bunk, and he falls clumsily

_wait what_

as she tears first his trousers, then his briefs, down to his knees, alarmed but not enough to twist away as she readies him roughly with her mouth,

_the hell_

not enough to protest when she climbs on top of him, 

_crazy oh shit_

not wanting but wanting her, tasting her with lips anesthetized by alcohol, uncoordinated hands batting ineffectually at her arms and breasts as she pants above him,

_spinning helpless_

and groaning with numbed pleasure as he releases inside her.  And their waking together, hours later, each half naked and fearful of the truth, wanting to believe it means nothing but knowing...

_oh God_

And lower still, to the thoughts he has kept entombed for months, the desire for me, the anticipation of my footfalls, my voice, the ache for my touch, yes, but more as well, for my eyebrow raised in astonishment, my mouth quirking in amusement, my eyes dropping in submission and raising again in challenge, my heart quickening with admiration and respect, my face softening in love.  And the physical want is there as well, every gentle, tender gesture he has ever hoped to bestow and receive in return as well as every debauched act he can think of that leads to our shocked intakes of breath, our ragged moans and screams of ecstasy, our exhausted embraces as we tumble together toward sleep...

And lower to the very bottom at last, to the gaping need, the void that he believes will never be filled, the want of a true companion who will see all this, know all this, and love him anyway despite his belief that he is unlovable, stay with him through the fear of his own inconstancy, devote a lifetime to him when

_I don't deserve it_

"You sure you still want that bond?"

His voice is at once defiant and hopeless, a warrior with the sword at his throat, awaiting the stroke but refusing to kneel.

_In the end, it will make no difference_

_I may not have him because he will never be mine to take_

I pull my hand away at last, my fingers wet with his furious tears.

_Oh James_

_Oh my dear one_

My voice is unsteady, low-pitched and breaking on the words as my own heart breaks for him.  

"How could you think there is any darkness within you that is not within myself as well?"

He is rigid, disbelieving. 

I take his hand and place my two fingers into his palm, folding it around them, inviting him to cling to me.

_This is what is real_

_You are not alone_

_I never leave you_

I raise my other hand to the side of his head, to the fine golden curls clustering around his ear, and draw his fingers up to my mouth, brushing the first two with my lips, so that he will understand.

 


	37. Jim (11)

 

It's almost light when I wake up, not quite dawn but that time right before that Sam and I used to call Stupid Fucking Bird Time, because there always seemed to be these one or two songbirds who were evidently too fucking stupid to realize that 3 a.m. doesn't count as daytime yet and would start singing in the darkness, all by themselves, and we'd giggle and snort and come up with more and more insulting names for them as we lay there in the darkness too, waiting for the sounds from downstairs to begin, the signal that it wasn't safe to laugh anymore.   

It takes me a minute to realize where I am; I'd gotten used to the outlines of the hospital room, and this one is even smaller, although the bed is bigger and a hell of a lot more comfortable.  I sit up and look around for Bones and Spock, going one for two as I catch the outline of Spock's head against the faint glow of the front window.

"Are you well?'

"Yeah.  What happened?"

"You fainted."

"The hell you say."

"It is true."

I remember the meld and the odd, squirmy feeling of having someone else look inside your head, but overall, I think I handled it okay.  The fact that Spock is still here and still talking to me and hasn't run screaming out of the room, or killed me, or something in between those two, seems like a pretty good sign.

Then I remember the kiss, and that's when I realize, yeah, he's right.  Not my best moment.  

But in my own defense, it wasn't like a normal kiss at all.  He had his mouth on my fingers, and that was freakishly hot; even though I was still kind of worked up about the meld, there was something about that contact that was so much more erotic than I would have thought it would be.  Then he pulled my head toward him as he leaned in, not to kiss me on the mouth (which is what I was expecting, so I was already debating whether I should slip him some tongue or not and had just about decided on no, since I didn't yet have an idea of how far he was ready to go, plus I didn't know if Vulcans had some taboo against tongues, and I didn't want to fuck it up the very first time) but on the side of the neck, right below my ear.

I normally don't get all wiggly and weak-kneed over sex stuff -- I mean, I like it and all, but it's not like I lose control.  But the feel of his lips on my neck totally paralyzed me, and I could feel my eyes rolling up, closing by themselves, and hear myself making the weirdest sound, like a high-pitched sighing whine, and I think I might have jizzed my jeans but I don't know for sure, because that's when he moved to kiss me on the mouth.  And _that_ , that was like the time Sam and I went out cow-tipping at Stupid Fucking Bird Time and I was running ahead of him toward the pasture, laughing while he yelled at me from behind, and I turned around to taunt him for being slow and ran right into the force field surrounding the herd, and that fucker sent me flying through the air, ten meters or more until I landed on my back on the ground, the wind completely knocked out of me, unable to do shit but listen to Sam alternate between calling me a fucking idiot and begging me to open my eyes.

So yeah, maybe comparing that kiss to being six years old and getting knocked out by an electric fence isn't the most romantic thing, but it's pretty accurate.  I didn't exactly faint; it felt more like someone hit my knees from behind to make them buckle, and I felt him grab me to hold me up until he figured out there was no way in hell I was going to be standing up any more, at which point he picked me up and put me on the bed.  And that was sweet, feeling him lying next to me, stroking my face and hair and arms, murmuring apologies for overwhelming my puny Human mind with his hot Vulcan love (okay, not his words, but that's basically what he meant), as I gradually passed out, laughing a little bit at myself for thinking I was the one who should be taking it slow on him.

So here we are, hours later, in a posh hotel room in the wee small hours of Stupid Fucking Bird Time, me and the guy I've been drooling over for like a year, him on the couch and me on the big-ass bed, and he's not screaming at me or killing me, plus he kissed me, so I guess he likes me too, even after all the shit he saw in my head.  So naturally, all I can think about is food.  

I mean, I am _so_  fucking hungry it isn't even funny.  And he gets up from the couch like he already knows and brings over a sandwich and a cup of soup.  God only knows what was in them, but they were awesome.  And as I'm chewing I'm thinking, how far does this knowing thing go?  So I think it really hard at him, as he's making coffee with his back to me, 

 _How far does this knowing thing go?_   

And I hear, or see, or something in between but not really either, 

_Impressions ideas feelings_

_Whoa fuck_

I feel him laugh in my head, and I remember the times in the hospital room when Bones told me I was cracked for saying that Spock was laughing or getting all emotional, and I realize I've been getting those _impressions ideas feelings_ from him ever since I woke up but didn't know it.  

He brings a cup of coffee over to me, setting it down on the bedside table and taking the empty bowl out of my hand while I try to think something else at him.

_I'm really really sorry_

And I don't feel laughter from him, more like the kind of smile people give you when you do something stupid and they're trying to humor you by smiling at you with their head tilted to one side, like they're saying, _Aw, isn't that cute, you did something totally fucking stupid._   

_Serious damn it_

_I know_

And he's holding the soup bowl and looking down at me as I'm sitting on the bed, watching me washing down the last of the sandwich with the coffee, 

_Soup..._

and he leans in and down to lick the corner of my mouth with the point of his tongue.

_Gahhhhhh_

By which I mean, _Oh, I presume Spock observed an errant drop of soup on my lip and wished to use it as an excuse to make smoking hot contact with me._  Yeah, that.  

I almost drop the coffee cup but he pulls it from my hand and puts it on the night table as he gently pushes me back down onto the bed.  I guess he's thinking I'll faint again or something, but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to until I feel all the blood drain from my head and go straight to my dick.

_Uh oh_

I've done it before, been so eager that I fucked up a good thing by going too far too fast, and I don't want to do that here, with him.  So I'm trying not to lose my head and not push for more, which is hard to do with him above me, now, pale in the growing light, those eyes and that mouth, and all I want to do is 

_Kiss please_

And he does, his lips just as soft and tasty as they were in my

_Dream?_

_Idea impression feeling bond space_

and I guess there's no Vulcan taboo against tongues after all because his sweeps right in, hotter and more delicious than the coffee, and I know I'm getting overwhelmed again because I start trembling all over, like every muscle in my body is cramping and releasing together, and there isn't fuck I can do about it except bring my hands up to grab his hair, to hold his face to mine so that he never leaves me,

_Stay_

_Yes_

so that he'll understand.

And now his hands are on my shirt, diving under and pulling up, and I have to let go of his hair so he can slide it over and off me, flinging it off the bed and coming back to kiss me again, his hands roaming over my bare chest and shoulders, trailing down my sides to my hips and back up, not fast but still urgent, and I realize he

_Want to fuck me_

_Yes yes_

is actually hot for me in a way I didn't think he could be, being all logical most of the time except when I'm pissing him off.  Which, given the weird growling noises he's making right now, I just might be.

_Angry_

_No aroused you so you I cannot_

Ha, he's so horny he can't even think straight. I can feel my own caution slipping away and the eagerness taking over; my shaking hands move from his head to his back, grabbing his shirt and pulling to let him know I want it off, and he sits up on top of me, straddling me with his thighs as he tugs his shirt

_My shirt_

_Yes your scent oh fragrant_

over his head and my hands are on him, pushing him back when he wants to lean forward to cover me, pushing him up so I can see him and feel him, his skin like burning silk under my palms.  And his eyes are closed, his mouth relaxed and open a little, and now open a lot as my hands find his cock, hot and hard and leaking, and I trace around it with trembling fingers and squeeze it through his trousers.

Then I freeze because I see it, the mark I left on his collarbone, the bruise that I made when I tried to block him out, to keep him from seeing what I want to do to him, and the memory of what I did, with her.

_Oh no_

_I_  

_Oh God_

And the shaking gets worse, it's rocking the whole damn bed.

_Look_

He takes his fingers and traces the bite, holding my eyes with his gaze

_Look at me_

as he pushes, first gently, then more and more, until his fingers are pressing so hard that the blood is pushed away, the bruise I left paling and another mark of his own making appearing over it

_See_

and I understand that he's sorry, for keeping his truth from me as well.

The shaking is so bad now and he knows I'm on the edge of losing it, that I can't take any more before my mind shuts down again and that it's time to back off.  He moves off my hips, seating himself between my legs and pulling me upright so that we're both sitting with our legs folded around each other's hips, arms clasped around each other's backs, skin against skin and chins resting on each other's shoulders.  He holds me and tries to quiet me, both of us remembering.

_This is what is real_

_Yes_  

_You never leave me_

_Never, beloved_

_Good_

And his mouth is on my neck again, moving slowly to my shoulder, then my forehead, everywhere, and I think, yeah, dying the first time sucked, but dying right now, like this, would be okay.

 


	38. Bones (10)

 

There have been times when I've been so exhausted, usually by long shifts at work but sometimes by other things too, that I've prayed for the chance to just put my dogs up and lie in bed all day, nothing to do but read my PADD and drift in and out of sleep, knowing that there's absolutely nothing that needs done and nobody that needs caring for, getting shitloads of rest.  

Well, the hell with that.  After doing nothing but lying in bed for the past 24 hours, I've never been so goddamned tired in my life.

I felt pretty good when I woke up after the surgery they did to put my skull back together, thanks to the meet-your-maker pain meds I was pumped up on.  But once they wore off, and after Nyota left for the night, my face was hurting too much let me sleep, and I didn't want to ask the night nurse for more meds -- I know how easy it is to ramp up and out of control on that junk.  So I lay awake for long stretches, itching to turn on my side but not being able to, and marking the time by listening to the sounds of the ward. It's funny how you never really lose the sense of the rhythm of a hospital, even if you're not on shift, to the point that, even if I did eventually fall asleep, I would jolt awake every hour on the hour, just before the nurse would come in to check my vitals and initial my chart.  So by morning rounds at 07:00, I felt as bone-weary as if I hadn't slept at all.

But I perked up when the new attending on the floor came in to check on me.  It had been several years since I'd last seen Mark Piper, but I'd recognize his disheveled bulk anywhere.  Mark's as slovenly as Boyce is neat, and he has absolutely none of his polish, but I remember him as being sympathetic, honest, and a damn fine physician to boot.  I do have to say, I think he could stand to steal a starched lab coat from Phil's closet; there's something about that fat white stomach sticking out from under a scrub top that's none too appealing.  

"Leo!  What the hell are you doing in here?"  He shook my hand with sincerity, another thing Boyce was lacking.  After reading my chart, he answered his own question.  "Hmph.  Got knocked on your ass, huh?"

"Something like that."

" _Exactly_ like that," he rumbled.  "Says here you were out for two hours while they patched your face back together, and then you didn't wake up for another hour and a half after that.  Sounds like you need to stay in here for at least one more day, son."

Another day in isolation, not knowing how Jim was doing, if Spock was able to keep him under wraps...I groaned in genuine dismay.  "Mark, please.  It's killing me to be in here.  I've got someone to stay with me and keep an eye on me for the next few days, so can't you just let me go?  Professional courtesy?"

He tapped the PADD with a stubby finger.  "Tell you what.  I'll release you if you promise to take a full two weeks off.  Don't show your face around here until those black eyes are back to normal and check in with me in a week's time.  Sound like a good deal to you?"

I nodded, but I could sense there was something else. 

Mark leaned on the foot of my bed, frowning at the PADD.  "Says here Phil Boyce was the one who took a swing at you.  What'd he do that for?"

I shrugged.  "Didn't like my call on a patient of his.  I discharged him, he disagreed, I disagreed back, he decked me.  End of story."

"Hell of a story, Doctor.  Don't take you for the disagreeing type."

"We all have our moments."

"Hmph."  He tapped the PADD again.  "Who was the patient?"

I thought I could trust Mark, but I'd thought I could trust Phil, too.  I tried to sound nonchalant.

"Captain Jim Kirk.  He'd already been here over two weeks and was raring to go, so I cut him loose.  Phil took it personally."

"I read his notes.  Says he thinks Kirk's recovery was a little too rapid.  Thought something wasn't quite on the up and up."

I had started to frown as I wondered why an attending would note suspicions like that on a patient's chart when the thought bubbled up...If Piper already knew the patient in question was Jim, why did he just ask me for his name?

I forced the frown into nonexistence as my own suspicions grew.  Mark was waiting for a response, so I played the only card I had.

"That might could be.  Mr. Spock performed a mind-meld with the captain before we got him down to Medical.  I don't know how that would affect his recovery time, but I wouldn't bet against it speeding things up a bit."

Mark raised his eyebrows at that but didn't comment as he scribbled on the PADD.  "Maybe."  

I waited, hoping the look on my face was an honest one.

"All right, Leo, let's get you out of here."  Mark hung the PADD back on the wall and hitched up his scrubs.  "Can someone pick you up after 1600?"

"I'll comm her now."

 

***

 

By the time we walked through Nyota's front door, I was more than ready for one of those little red pills rattling in my pocket.  It must have showed.

"Go lie down.  I'll bring you something in a minute."

"Something" turned out to be a bowl containing equal parts mashed potatoes and baked beans and a glass of sweet tea that made one of those pills go down pretty easy.  Half an hour later, pleasantly full and reasonably comfortable, I could feel myself heading for the first real sleep I'd had in weeks.

She pulled my shoes off, turned down the covers, and helped me underneath, sliding in next to me and tucking her head under my arm.  Her hand on my chest was light and warm.

She caught sight of my left hand.  "What happened to your ring?"

I held my hand up so we could both see it, the paler indentation on the little finger still visible amid the puffiness and bruising Jim had caused the other morning, when they left.  

"Jim fucked up my wrist, sprained it pretty bad.  They had to cut the ring off because my hand swelled up so big."

"Do you still have it?"

I fumbled around in my pants pocket and found it lying hidden beneath the bottle of little red pills.  I pulled both of them out and handed her the ring, its circle broken nearly in the center of the band.

She turned it over in her fingers as she tried to read the inscription inside.  "Whose initials are these?  And...a date?"

I nodded.  "That's for our baby, Jocelyn's and mine, the one we lost."

I felt her freeze in dismay and squeezed her with my other arm to reassure her, my head getting heavy and warm as the drugs kicked in.  

"It's okay.  Maybe later you can come with me to get it fixed, if you know a good place."

She was silent for several minutes, then reached over me to put the ring on the bedside table before settling back down next to me and burying her face in my side.  Her voice when she next spoke was muffled, thick with tears.

"How did you get through it?"

I was spiraling down into a place where the pain was dulling, nearly absent, and I could answer her truthfully.  

"We didn't."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there's any way Mark Piper could have served on the Enterprise in the AOS timeline despite his role as its pre-McCoy CMO in TOS, so I imagine here that he didn't.
> 
> The "little red pills" reference is a nod to TOS episode "The Man Trap."
> 
> Leonard's wife in TOS canon is named Jocelyn, but the IDW comic book series (which you could argue better reflects AOS canon) names her as Pamela. I went with Jocelyn out of my ridiculous love for TOS.
> 
> And I have no idea why Bones wears a pinky ring but I have a ridiculous love for it as well, so it gets its own backstory here.


	39. Spock (10)

 

It has been my practice for many years to meditate during the evening hours, to allow the events of the day to coalesce as I examine each experience, glean what is to be gained from it, and catalog it for possible reference in the future before discharging it from my supraliminal mind.  It is by these means that I maintain a certain orderliness of thought, a discipline of cognition in which arbitrary thoughts and memories do not indiscriminately occupy my awareness to claim attention away from the matters at hand and thus distract me from my immediate purpose. 

Perhaps under ordinary circumstances I would find it unsettling that I now feel the need for an additional morning meditation interval as well; indeed, the necessity to supplement my mind with a further occasion in which to facilitate its organization reflects a newly increased disquiet in my consciousness.  However, the burden of that disquiet is one that I would gladly -- no, joyfully -- bear for the rest of my days.

He is a most disturbing presence.  

Our bond is strong, our minds already attuned even without the intervention of a healer, and I am finding it most difficult to resist the temptation to luxuriate endlessly in the space between us.  His thoughts are chaotic and untidy but compelling, intoxicating in their power and fascinating in their complexity; were he to successfully incorporate the practices I myself utilize to bring structure to that chaos, his would be the most exceptional of minds.  I have attempted to instruct him in the techniques of meditation, but aside from the half-hour he spent yesterday disabling the room's smoke detection system in order that we may use my fire-pot as a focal point, he has achieved little of value as of yet.  Quite the opposite, in fact; our first meditation session last evening ended, rather shortly after it began, with him launching himself across the floor at me, pinning me down by the shoulders as he sat on my thighs, and announcing that meditation was "stupid" and that he would prefer to spend our time together "getting naked" rather than enhancing the discipline of his mind.

Undisciplined though it may be, its allure is such that I must avail myself of these early morning hours to deliberately distance myself from his consciousness as he sleeps and attempt to restore order to my own.  

But even in sleep, we seek each other's touch.  I have insisted that we maintain separate sleeping spaces, his on the bed and mine on the sofa, to mitigate the proclivity on both of our parts to engage in intimate physical contact.  I cannot help but be mindful of the strain that such contact evidently places on him, untrained and unaccustomed as he is to the bond and the concomitant connection it establishes between our minds.  Despite its prodigious cognitive abilities, his is after all a Human brain with Human physiology, and the ease with which it is overwhelmed by the contact we have already, unwisely, enjoyed has been clearly evidenced, despite his protestations to the contrary.  Indeed, he has since entreated me to join him in his bed, and while my heart rejoices at his ardor, I know it to be at the very least unwise until such time as his mind can prove itself capable of withstanding both the mental and emotional intimacy that such activities between bonded individuals entail.  My concern for his well-being is such that I believe myself to be sufficiently disciplined in this regard, that I will not endanger him further with physical expressions of affection.  Yet we both continue, involuntarily, to circumvent my best intentions; this morning, for instance, I awoke to find him sitting on the floor next to the sofa, his arm draped across my legs and his face pillowed on my groin as he slept, unaware that he had moved in his sleep to find me.  Similarly I have awakened from sleep to find myself not upon the sofa where I had originally retired but in the bed with him, my body wrapped around him from behind and my mouth on the back of his neck. 

How easy it would have been, I reflect now, to remain there, in that position, with him, to brush my lips against the soft curls of his hair so unlike my own, to press gentle kisses down his neck to his upper back, to feel him awaken under my touch and sigh and push back into me, pressing himself into my growing hardness as my hand moves to caress his side, his hip, to push down the waistband of his shorts and gain access to the treasure underneath, the cleft between his buttocks along which I trail my fingers, gentle at first and then more demanding, opening him with my hand, pressing into him with my fingers, hearing his gasps of pleasure as I twist and curl inside him until he reaches blindly back for me, grasping me to pull me toward him, begging me without words and I obey, removing my hand to push his thigh up to allow me access, pushing myself completely inside him and pausing as he groans at the fullness, then moving, slowly, to withdraw and enter again, and again, rolling him onto his stomach so that I lie on top of him, moving on top of him, moving into him again, and again, my breath coming faster as he squirms and moans beneath me, pleading for

_more_

_harder_

 

his hips bucking against me, his hands clawing at the sheets, and again, and again, and now I cannot hold back any longer, I hammer helplessly into him, all control is lost, I claim him, he is mine, I roar my triumph and he responds with a jagged cry as I convulse inside him, gasping, disintegrating, slowing as I fall upon him to lay my pounding heart against the damp coolness of his skin.

I come back to reality only to discover that I must once again wash away the evidence of my weakness.

He is awake now, blue eyes peering at me from behind the pillow he holds in his arms, a knowing, impish smile on his face.  I consider disavowing my lapse but recall that he willingly showed me everything, every vulnerability, and I cannot answer that courageous act with even the mildest of untruths.

"I'll get you a towel."

He rolls off the bed, nearly as sure on his feet as he was before the  _Vengeance_  incident, stumbling only once, slightly, on the way to the bathroom.  

"Shit, we're out of clean ones.  Maybe there's a cart in the hall."

I recognize the error too late; he has already opened the door and craned his head outside to look.

_James NO_

_what oh_

The slight but audible hiss of a hypospray, the sight of his body falling and disappearing before it hits the floor, and I am off the sofa, lunging toward the open door.  But the hallway is already silent, empty, as I look to one side and the other, no trace of him or his abductor.

My distress outweighs the need for circumspection; I reach for my communicator and enter the doctor's code.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say the plot twists were over? I lied.


	40. Bones (11)

 

It wasn't so much the violent shaking -- as a body used to getting too little sleep, I'd learned how to make the most of what I could, and a little physical violence wasn't going to get me out of that bed -- but the urgency in Nyota's tone that made me force my eyes open.

"Leonard, wake up.  Spock's comming you."

And that was the second thing that got me sitting up and reaching for Nyota's hand to take the communicator.  We'd agreed to maintain comm silence to keep from being tracked; if Spock was violating that agreement, it meant that he figured there was no longer any need to keep themselves hidden.  Which could only mean one thing, really.

I didn't have to ask but did anyway, just in case I was wrong.

"Spock, what's going on?"

His voice was pretty calm, normal on the surface for Spock, but I could sense the tremor of concern underneath.

"They have taken the captain."

"What happened?"

"He opened the door.  They were waiting outside."

I admit there are a few things I'm a little irrational about, a few phobias, but I've never really been paranoid about anything, and the suspicions I'd harbored against Phil never really sat right with me; I would have been glad to be wrong about him, and Piper too.  But it looked like I wasn't.

"Okay.  Let me handle it."

"Doctor..."  

"No, it's all right.  I know these people.  If they're the ones that have him, I'm the one with the best shot at getting him back."

Spock seemed at a loss for words.  I cut off his transmission and entered Piper's code; he answered right away.

"Mark.  Where is he?"

A few seconds of silence, then Piper's voice, sounding tired or maybe resigned.  "He's here at Medical.  Come by, meet me at the Annex entrance, and I'll take you to him.  Come unarmed and don't bring your communicator.  And leave your lady friend behind too."

I kicked myself for being an idiot; our little room switch hadn't fooled anyone, and now I'd put Nyota at risk as well.

She took the communicator from my hand and replaced it with the key chip to her car.  "Go ahead.  I'll be fine."

I looked down at the key chip, then remembered that my own car was still parked at Medical from my shift two days before.

"I can't take this.  You have to get away if this all goes to hell."

She smiled tightly and pressed the key chip into my hand, hard enough to hurt.  "It'll be all right.  I'll make a few calls."

 

***

 

The Annex is essentially the old hospital, or what's left of it, a block away from the main Medical complex; they use it nowadays for hospital administration offices and as storage space for unused equipment and old patient records.  There's a little museum on the main floor where you can see displays of old-fashioned surgical instruments along with photographs and holos of the hospital in the good old days of sutures and plaster casts.  I couldn't fathom why they'd take Jim there, of all places.

Piper was waiting for me out front, a stained windbreaker zipped over his scrubs.  Under the circumstances, it would have been bizarre for him to shake my hand, but he offered it anyway with the same resignation I heard in his voice earlier.  I didn't take it.

"Leo, I'm sorry.  I tried to get you to stay away."

"Where is he?"

He patted me down to make sure I didn't have anything on me, then led me into the building.  We took the lift down to the basement and wound around the storage crates lining the old linoleum hallways to a second lift.  Mark held up a key chip to unlock the panel, then pressed the single down button.

The lift doors opened into a second basement.  I'd never been in this part of the Annex, didn't even know it existed.  Unlike the level we had just left, the floors were new, the walls not covered with old, cracked paint but sleek and bright.  Modern doors, each with a combination keypad, lined a well-lit hallway. Mark led me down to one of the last rooms, punched the code into the keypad, and stood aside to let me enter.

Jim was lying on an examination table, naked and unconscious, the contents of an I.V. bottle dripping slowly into a port on the back of one hand.  Sedative, I assumed.  Phil Boyce had a hold of his other hand to keep the arm elevated while he palpated the brachial muscles.  He didn't look up at me as I came in.

A wave of that same revulsion hit me, just like before when Spock and I walked in on him stroking Jim's legs. I charged toward them but got yanked back by a sudden hand on my shoulder, a grip too strong to be Piper's.  I hadn't seen the guard just inside the door, but I sure as hell felt his phaser digging into my kidney now.  I struggled anyway until that phaser hit me across the back of the head, driving me to my knees in a daze. From my new vantage point, I could see a pile of what looked to be Jim's discarded clothing against the opposite wall.

"Get your hands off him."  My voice sounded spindly to my ears.

"Remarkable, isn't it, Leonard?" he murmured, almost crooning, as if I hadn't spoken at all.  "The musculature, so well developed after three weeks of coma and bedrest."

He was right.  Even dizzy from the blow and the pain meds, I could still see it; you'd have to be blind not to.  Jim's body looked like it had been carved from marble, prominent muscles starkly defined in the surgical light.  I tried to change the subject.

"How'd you get sprung?"

He put Jim's arm down and proceeded to manipulate his deltoids and pectorals, still not looking at me.  "You don't get to where I am without having friends in high places.  Section 31 takes care of its own."

Great.  Another paranoid loony just like Marcus.  If I'd been in better command of my faculties, I might not have snorted.

Piper spoke up behind me.  "Leo, we'd like your help."

That was an easy one.  "No."

"Now now, wait until you hear what it is we want."  Boyce finished his manipulation of Jim's upper body and moved down to the end of the table to examine his feet and legs.  

"It doesn't matter what you want, you won't get it from me."

Phil palpated Jim's left gastrocnemius as he answered.  "You should know all the facts before you make that decision.  Section 31 isn't only about arms development; we also have a Human enhancement program.  This room and all the others in this subbasement are devoted to the discovery of ways to make people healthier, stronger, longer-lived.  Alex Marcus didn't wake Khan up just to have him make weapons for us.  He also wanted to study him, his physical traits and performance, with the goal of replicating the old experiments that originally created him and his people."

"Why?  To make a bunch of super-soldiers to go fight the Klingons?"

"That's not the only reason," Piper said from behind me as Boyce's probing fingers skated upward to Jim's left thigh.  "Imagine a world where people's lives are longer and better because of what we learn from Khan.  We don't want to create a new race of superior beings; we just want to use the information they can give us to eliminate disease and the suffering that comes with it.  We want you to be a part of that."

Dazed as I was, I couldn't help barking out a laugh.  "You actually believe that crap?  Newsflash, son, there's a reason the Eugenics records were sealed -- so that no one would repeat the efforts that led to that war in the first place!  You think you're going to be able to put the genie back in that bottle once you've gotten what you want?"

Phil moved to the opposite side of the table to inspect Jim's other leg, speaking with his back toward me as he did so.  "It's as simple as this: the Human race will be exterminated very shortly if we don't prepare ourselves.  Nothing is more important than that, regardless of what your so-called ethics suggest."

"So that's how you justify kidnapping a man, drugging him, and analyzing him like he was some kind of bacterium in a petri dish?"

Boyce straightened from the examination table and turned to face me, leaning against the table and folding his arms.  "It would have been better if he'd stayed in the hospital in the first place."  He nodded down at Jim.  "We could have examined him without the need for all this.  But you forced our hand by releasing him early."

I shook my head in disbelief; he actually seemed to buy into his own bullshit.  I looked over the guard's hand, still on my shoulder, at Piper.

"Mark, I can't believe you're in on this.  You're better than that."

He looked genuinely apologetic.  "I'm sorry, Leo.  But there's a bigger picture here, a greater purpose.  An end to illness, perhaps even to death.  Surely, as a healer, you can see the tremendous value in that."  

"Yes I do, but not at his expense.  What you're doing here is wrong; he wouldn't want this."

Phil crossed the room to pull several vacutainer tubes from a cabinet on the wall, stuffing them into the breast pocket of his lab coat.  "What he wants is immaterial compared to what we can learn from him and the good we can do with that knowledge."

"Good?  You're so full of shit your eyes should be brown. There's a reason that what you're doing has been banned since Tuskegee -- it's the equivalent of medical rape." 

He returned to the exam table and picked up Jim's hand, then tilted his head to look down at me.  

"If you really care so much, here's your chance to prove it.  I'll let him go on one condition."

My vision blurred; I didn't think I was going to be upright for much longer.  

"What is it?"

"That you give me everything you have on his treatment aboard the _Enterprise_ before he arrived here at Medical."

I almost agreed on the spot.  The records consisted of little more than biobed readings, and good luck to anyone trying to get anything meaningful out of them.

But then he continued: "And, you tell me exactly what you did to bring this dead man back to life."

I hoped to hell they didn't notice the quick shiver that ran up the back of my neck. "That's already in my report.  I performed CPR, intubated him, electrically and chemically restarted his heart.  There's nothing I did that any emergency med tech wouldn't have done."

Boyce smiled slightly and began filling tube after tube with Jim's blood, tapping it directly from the I.V. port on his hand.  "Oh, I beg to differ.  There were plenty of witnesses in your Sickbay and in the corridors who told of their poor dead captain zipped up inside a body bag.  I'm not stupid, Leonard.  I know Kirk was dead, that you did something to him that involved Khan, something that amounted to physical and mental resurrection.  Something that allowed him to recover in a matter of days from the effects of a coma that would keep a normal person bedridden for months if not permanently.  Something that altered his body composition to the point that his lean body mass exceeds what it was when you yourself recorded it at his last physical exam, in spite of his having been comatose for two weeks.  Did you really think I wouldn't notice?"

He moved across the room to put the tubes in a lab cooler, then turned and motioned to the guard to bring me to my feet. It was a good thing he still had a grip on my shoulder because I couldn't stand without leaning on him, and even then, I felt myself swaying into the phaser in my back.

"I won't need Kirk if I have you.  Tell me what you did, and I'll let him go. "

I didn't figure he would, even if I did.  And the possibility that he might then use Khan and his people as plasma production units sickened me almost as much as him fondling Jim's flesh.

"Go fuck yourself."

Boyce sighed and shook his head. "Then you're condemning both of you.  I'll just get what I need from him eventually, and you, unfortunately, will have to disappear.  Can't have you spreading all this--"  he nodded at Jim  "-- around."

I was getting real tired of his bullshit, real fast.  

"You don't have the sack to kill me."

"You're right about that, but he does." He nodded at the guard behind me.  Beside me, Piper was stunned.

"Phil, no!  That's not what we discussed!"

"Don't be an idiot.  If he won't cooperate, we need to get him out of the way."  

Mark moved faster than I'd have thought such a big guy could move and shoved me, hard, to the side.  The guard's grip on me loosened enough for me to tuck and roll away; I didn't see while Mark go for the phaser, but I knew he had when I heard a grunt from the guard followed by the sound of the weapon discharging.

For a moment, I thought I'd been hit; my body didn't feel like it belonged to me anymore, and I could barely see through the bleariness in my eyes.  But when I looked around, disoriented from the odd perspective, I saw Boyce lying near me on the floor.  And as I stared at him, I saw him brighten, yellow beams playing across the white of his lab coat, and, glory be, I heard the sound of Spock's voice, and Nyota's.  And after that I don't remember much of anything except Nyota propping me up against the wall and sitting next to me, her hand warm on my thigh, both of us watching Spock walk up to the examination table, reach down for Jim, and pull him tightly to his chest.

 


	41. Nyota (6)

 

It was a bit of a tight fit in my car, Spock and me in the front seat and Leonard keeping an eye on Jim's vitals in the back.  I think he was right to be concerned; Jim hadn't shown any signs of awakening, hadn't even twitched, since we used Dr. Piper's key chip to get him out of the hospital annex, and even to my untrained ear, his breathing was alarmingly slow.  But none of us were too keen on checking him back into Medical, so we agreed that Leonard would stay with him in the hotel room until he woke up, and I decided on my own not to leave Leonard, especially after I saw the blood trickling down the back of his neck.

Once we got to the hotel, I dropped Spock off at the front so he could retrieve the wheelchair and a blanket from their room -- it would have attracted too much attention for us to bring Jim up in the lift in the same way we got him out of the Annex, half-dressed and barefoot and obviously unconscious.  And although we had no reason to think anyone was after him anymore, what with both Dr. Boyce and Dr. Piper in custody at the Central Police Station, I don't think any of us drew a full breath until after we had gotten him up to the room and triple-locked the door behind us.  

I'm not too proud of the fact that the first thing I did upon getting to the room was check if both the bed and the pull-out couch had been slept in, even less proud of my irritation that housekeeping had straightened both so that I couldn't tell.  Spock laid Jim on the bed and drew the covers up over him while Leonard checked his pulse again.

"56.  It's rising; that's a good sign."

I went into the bathroom to comm Scotty and tell him that the plan had worked, that Jim was at the coordinates I'd hacked off of Leonard's communicator from his call to Dr. Piper, and that we'd gotten him back.  I promised to update him later when I had more news, and he promised to buy the first round at the hotel bar whenever we were ready for it.  

I told him that I planned on holding him to that, but the sight that met me when I re-entered the room made the likelihood that we'd be celebrating together anytime soon seem rather remote.  Spock was sitting on the couch, staring forlornly at Jim with his chin on his hands, while Leonard was barely maintaining his perch on the edge of the bed and clumsily wiping blood off the back of his head and neck with his own shirt.  I went back to the bathroom for a towel.

"Here.  Let me do that; you're just making a mess of yourself."

I got the worst of the blood off but the gash was still dribbling, so I made a pad of the towel and got him to lie down on it next to Jim on the bed.  I don't think it was a good sign that he fell asleep almost immediately and I wondered what the chances were that he had a concussion.  But if I was wary of checking Jim back into the hospital, I was doubly so for Leonard.

"I'll wait until he wakes up and then I'll take him back over to my place.  I don't want him going back to Medical for a while."

Spock nodded and moved over on the couch to give me a place to sit.  I pulled my shoes off and curled up next to him, surprised to feel his arm slide around me but more surprised that I welcomed the gesture.

"I cannot thank you as sufficiently as I wish to.  My gratitude toward you and the doctor is boundless."

"You're the one that kicked ass in that room.  I just held a phaser and waited for the dust to settle."  

That was actually true; Spock is formidable when calm but deadly when provoked, and by the time the police arrived, it was plain that the doctors and their hired thug had a few more injuries than what would have been strictly necessary to subdue them.

We were silent for a few moments until I caught sight of the pendant around his neck and reached up to touch it with one finger.  

"Did he tell you?"

"He did.  It is of no concern to me."

His arm tightened around my shoulders as he turned his head toward me, surprising me again by touching his lips to my forehead.  

"Nyota, I am sorry.  I know the fault was mine; my neglect and deception were inexcusable.  I truly wish that you and I shall remain friends in spite of my behavior.  I know that it is also his desire, not just for you and me but for the two of you as well."

I must have been out of my mind from post-adrenaline exhaustion, because in that moment, as we snuggled together on the couch and watched Jim and Leonard sleep, I thought it just might be possible.

 

***

 

I don't know how much time had passed before I woke up, my legs and Spock both asleep under me and the room in almost total darkness.  I reached over him to turn on the lamp on the side table.

A sudden bellow from the direction of the bed made me cry out in alarm, eliciting a second, lower bark and bringing Spock to immediate wakefulness. It would have been comical to see the four of us staring wildly around the room at each other if my heart hadn't been hammering so painfully from fright.

Jim was sitting straight up in the bed, shivering uncontrollably, his eyes huge as they flew from face to face.  "What..what are you all doing here?"

Leonard rolled up and grabbed Jim's wrist to take his pulse; he responded by jerking his arm away, his startled gaze taking in Leonard's half-reclining position on the bed and his shirtless upper body before moving to gape at Spock and me tangled together on the couch.

_"What the fuck is going on?!"_

I couldn't help it; I started to laugh, and it felt so damn good that I didn't stop, even when the giggles turned into tears that not even Leonard's arms around me could stop.

 


	42. Chekov

 

I come early because I want enough time to enjoy.  Come too late, leave too soon, not so much to enjoy.  I order my drink from the bar woman; she is pretty nice, nice-looking, but not for me, too skinny.  I smile at her and she says my drink is on top of the house and will not take my money.  Good thing, I think.

The doctor and Miss Uhura come in and look around the room.  They are early just like me.  I wave at them and they come to me at the bar.  Bar woman takes their order but it is not on top of the house.  Doctor is making the joke about my drink.  I tell him his drink is horse piss.  Then he is telling me his family is in the eastern North American United States since before revolutionary war.  I think he is very proud of this thing but it does not matter, his drink is still piss.  Maybe piss and water.  Miss Uhura wants white wine, girly drink.  Doctor asks bar woman for the big table so I bring my drink and sit with them.  Miss Uhura is touching doctor and laughing, and he is smiling very much.  I see something wrong with his face, little scar on nose and little bruise on eyes, but he is seeming very happy.  He asks waiter for more horse piss and wings of buffalo chicken.  I do not know what animal is that.  

Now the captain and Mr. Spock come in and they see us and come to the table.  The doctor and Miss Uhura stand up and hug them many times.  I shake everyone's hand, even Mr. Spock.  Captain is hugging Miss Uhura for very long time and I am thinking oh no, Mr. Spock is angry, but he is busy to hug doctor very tight and say something straight in the ear that makes doctor smile and slap Mr. Spock on the shoulder.   I am very surprised because I do not think Mr. Spock enjoys to touch the people.  Captain sits next to doctor and hugs him around the shoulders, is joking with him very much, much laughing, but he is looking a little serious too, doctor just laughs and slaps captain on the leg and orders more horse piss.  Asks captain and Mr. Spock what they want; captain is wanting beer, Mr. Spock also is wanting beer.  Strange because I do not know Mr. Spock likes drink except water and tea that is smelling like cat piss.  He sits next to captain and I am thinking oh no, Mr. Spock is angry that doctor and girlfriend are touching so much but he does not look angry.  Very tall handsome waiter comes to take beer order and I order more drink for me and Miss Uhura.  I am sitting next to her, she is looking very pretty and kisses me on the cheek.

Ah here is coming Hikaru and Miss Darwin.  He is shaking everyone's hand and she is hugging me.  I want to hug her for long time; her chest is soft like pillow, so nice.  I am asking what drink for them.  She is saying, she will have "vodka tonic."  I know what is vodka but not tonic.  I tell her, no tonic.  She say yes, she will try.  She is good woman.  Hikaru is wanting rice wine.  Maybe it is good, but he tells me it is warm, I think, not good.

Very handsome waiter brings wings of buffalo chicken and we are passing them around.  Everyone takes but Mr. Spock and the captain.  Mr. Spock, he is vegetable only.  Captain is not, but still, he does not take wings.  Strange because I know he is liking to eat meat.  Waiter smiles at captain and asks, why you not take wings?  I make you something else, something good you will enjoy, it is on top of the house.  Captain shakes his head and handsome waiter smiles bigger, says come on, I know I am having something for you, you will like.  Mr. Spock stares at waiter and captain says something vegetable.

Wings are so good but very hot.  My face is red, I can feel.  Doctor is laughing at me, he says, you want some horse piss to wash down?  I tell him I die before drink his piss drink.  Miss Darwin pats my arm, tells me vodka is good.  I am thinking I want to sit in her lap.

Mr. Scott and Mr. Keenser are coming.  I am having hard time now to see them because it is crowded, so many people.  I am happy I come early. I see captain stand up and shake the hand of Mr. Scott and Mr. Scott pull captain in and hug him and cry little bit.  Then he is hugging Miss Uhura and doctor and crying again.  I think he is needing drink or maybe is already started.  It is not matter, I order drink for them. They sit down and Mr. Scott is also making joke about my drink.  I tell him his drink is cow piss.  I am thinking Mr. Keenser is laughing but I cannot be for sure.

Very handsome waiter brings plate of fried potatoes and vegetable and something brown looks like pig shit, I do not know what is it.  Captain and Mr. Spock try, say it is good.  Waiter says to captain, anything else you want, I give you.  Captain smiles no. Mr. Spock does not smile, stares at waiter and moves hand closer to captain's hand on table.  Miss Darwin squeezes my leg.  I am thinking I want to hug her pillow chest again.

Dr. Marcus comes to the table and everyone stands and hugs more.   Doctor hugs for long time, Miss Uhura hugs and laughs, Mr. Spock shakes her hand, captain hugs too.  She orders black beer from very handsome waiter and sits next to Mr. Keenser.  I am thinking he is looking very happy but I am not for sure.  She is wanting to sit next to captain but Mr. Spock will not move.  She is needing to come more early like me.

I am enjoying very much.  Doctor and captain are laughing, much hugging.  Mr. Spock is looking happy even when very tall handsome waiter is asking captain does he like anything.  Miss Uhura and doctor are leaning together, very happy.  Dr. Marcus and Mr. Scott are talking very much about engines and weapons.  I think maybe she is needing more beer.  Mr. Scott is very happy, not needing any more cow piss, cannot talk well because too much already.  Mr. Keenser is asking him if he is needing ride home.

I am sitting on the lap of Miss Darwin and she is very good kissing, taste like vodka.  Hikaru is laughing loud, slapping me on the shoulder and asking if I am needing ride home.  

I am thinking, no.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am assuming that, in the 23rd century, Pavel is old enough to drink, or at least looks old enough not to get carded.
> 
> And the "pig shit" is hummus.


	43. Nyota (7)

 

"May I take your coat?"

I turn my back to him and shrug it off into his hands; I think I'm finally getting used to his manners.  Like the way he holds doors open for me, not unusual since most people who weren't raised in a barn would do the same, but as I walk through, he places his hand very lightly on the small of my back as if to guide me.  That strikes me as very old-fashioned, almost courtly.

I make tea for both of us and we take the cups out to the living room, curling up on the couch together and sipping as we watch the lights outside dim one by one.  My mind is only a little muddled; I didn't go the route of Pavel or, God forbid, Scotty, who looked like he'd gotten an hours-long head start on us, by imbibing too much tonight.  But I suspect he might have.  I hate to say I counted his drinks, all of them neat whiskey, but I did, and he'd had enough for me to be fairly uncertain as to his state of mind.  Which matters because I have some explaining to do, an apology to make, and it might be easier to do tomorrow, in the sensible light of morning when we're both clear-headed and rational rather than now, when I'm afraid I'm not and he probably isn't either.  

But he doesn't address it, choosing a different tack instead.  

"It looks like you told him." 

I have to take a sip of tea before I can answer, a moment to recall the afternoon that Spock and Leonard left us to give their statements, and I started to tell him what he deserved to know, and I can see it again, now, blue eyes widening and jaw dropping in surprise, then curving up at the corners, an open-mouthed grin of delight, until I finish what I had started to say and the smile slowly, painfully, fades, those eyes clouding over and falling before mine to look at the floor.

I nodded and echoed my own thought.  "He deserved to know."

This evening was just what we had all needed, a restoring of normalcy -- however much of that there _could_ be, given everything that's happened.  I'd noticed that Jim seemed a little reserved and that Leonard was doing everything he could to bring him out and keep him entertained --  he actually had all of us in stitches all night long with blackly funny horror stories from his youth and his med school days.  But there was something else behind his jokes, something I could see hints of, just bits and pieces, that pulled at me.  I felt it but didn't know what it was or how to respond to it, and it ate at me all evening long, the idea that I should do something for him without a clue what that something should be.  So naturally I did the exact wrong thing.

It was at one point late in the evening, while we were laughing about Pavel's unusual seating arrangement, when Leonard leaned over, put his arm around me, and said, "I wonder if he knows what his _sleeping_ arrangements are going to be tonight."  

My immediate response was to growl suggestively in his ear, something friendly and playful and not too out of line in such a crowded social situation.  But then I found myself nuzzling his ear, kissing it and the skin of his neck below it, moving downward until I ran into his collar and couldn't kiss any further without changing direction and moving back up along the pulse of his throat to his jaw.  I felt his sudden intake of breath as he froze, his arm involuntary tightening around my shoulders. That's when I stopped, looked away, took a sip of wine, and wondered just what the hell it was I was up to.  

Because the last thing in the world I want to do is mess things up with Leonard.  He's been my rock through all of this, and if I push us down that road and things don't work out, if I end up driving him away, I don't think I could live with that.  I know I would survive it, and the possibility that I would be hurt doesn't scare me nearly as much -- I mean, I'm not staying on the shelf forever, and breaking up with someone I'm not even involved with isn't on my immediate list of Things to Worry About.  But I'm not willing to do anything that would hurt him, and I might already have done just that.

He knows -- he's not that drunk after all.  "What else is on your mind'?"

I stare at the contents of my cooling cup, like the answer is written there, wishing it were.  But it's not, so I silently rehearse what I know I should say before I put it down on the side table and look up at him.

And the second I do, the statement I was planning on making dissolves, leaving me with nothing but the truth.

"I'm sorry.  I want to be with you.  But I don't want to lose you."

He sets his cup down as well and moves closer to me so that I can move into his arms, then leans back, pulling me with him until he's half-lying underneath me, propped up by throw pillows and the arm of the couch.  I inhale the scent of his shirt, of him, the scent I've detected around the apartment several times over the past few weeks that makes me freeze and sniff the air like a desert animal catching a hint of water on the wind, and I think how easy it would be to let my hands come up to his hair, to run through it with my fingers while my mouth renews the trek it started in the hotel bar, from his ear down his neck to his collar and back upward to his jaw, but now I would continue up to his mouth and it would be waiting for me, open and warm and tasting of whiskey, ready for my kiss.  But it's too soon, and I know that he knows it too; we're still groping around in the dark of this new landscape in which my love and his orbit each other like twin stars while we observe the gravity that binds them to each other and wonder where our own places in the universe are.  I feel ridiculously close to tears.  

His heartbeat is steady in my ear, his next words reverberating through his chest under my head.  

"You're not gonna lose me.  But you need to know that I'm gonna take it very seriously if we decide to go there, that I'd do my damnedest to make it work out."

I do kiss him then, a chaste, sisterly touch on the lips before I settle back down on him to watch the sky outside lighten, to feel his breathing slow beneath me and the funny little jerks a body makes as it slides into sleep.  And even though it's too soon, I know the want is there, and I selfishly trail my fingers over his sleeping chest, daring to skim down his side to his belt, imagining him inside me, his lips gentle on me, the stuttering of his thrusts and his throaty groans in my ear, the smooth skin of his back moistening under my hands as his climax comes upon him, the tiny goosebumps erupting beneath my fingertips, his cry of release muffled by the warm thumping skin of my neck.

And I think, if I ever have the chance to love this man, I should take it; if I can make him happy, even if it's not for the rest of our lives, even if it's just for a short time, surely whatever follows will be worth it.

 


	44. Jim (12)

 

Oh my God, I can't believe it.  We just walked in the door, and Spock's already setting up his little firepot thing.  Which only means one thing:  more meditation.

I swear to God, if I have to meditate one more time, I'm going to go fucking nuts, which I figure is the complete opposite of what I'm supposed to do.  Fits, though, because I feel like everything is the opposite of what it should be, or what I want it to be.

The most obvious thing: we're a couple, theoretically.  Bonded and all that.  My interpretation of that relationship would be shitloads of hot sex.  But oh, no.  No sex, not even any kissing, for weeks.   _Weeks_.  His explanation (because hell yeah I've complained!  Several times!) is that my mind needs to be more disciplined in order to withstand more of his hot Vulcan love.  Hence the meditation.  And okay, I'll give him that, I do feel calmer, like my thoughts are more orderly, since we started singing kumbayah around his little campfire on a daily basis.  Sometimes a twice-daily basis.  It's gotten to the point that I spend more time fantasizing about heaving that goddamned pot through the window and watching it fall 50 floors than I do meditating.

All this mental orderliness is making me insane, which I'm pretty sure is the exact definition of irony.

And another thing.  We're finally moving out of here tomorrow, the first of the month, to our own apartment in Lower Haight.  But have I even seen it yet?  No.  Why?  Because he did all the legwork and all the searching and didn't include me in any of it.  Granted, the apartment-hunting happened right after (and because of) the whole kidnapping thing, and he was super-paranoid about me leaving the hotel room again.  And okay, I was too, a little.  I think both of us will feel a lot easier about me being out in public again once we're settled somewhere else.  But I feel like he's taken the decision entirely out of my hands, like I'm a child or something.  All I know about it is that it's a two-bedroom.   _Two_.   _Bedroom_.  More of an indication that we'll be having the opposite of shitloads of hot sex.

I'm putting this all together in my head and coming up with an explanation of my own.  I think he started to lose interest in me after the mind meld, once he saw all the shit I have going on, and I can't say I blame him, because it is a lot of shit that I honestly wouldn't mind getting rid of if I could.  But he feels obligated to stay with me because of the whole death thing, and my getting abducted by the psycho doctors from hell just made him feel even more obligated.

I don't know.  I mean, I want to be with him, really, really bad.  But I don't know how much more I can take of being unwanted. I don't even undress in front of him anymore, because I feel like it's too desperate, like, Oh hey, look at me, don't you want some of this?  And the answer is always No, which is beyond depressing.  So I change in the bathroom, t-shirt and shorts so I'm pretty much all covered up, before coming out to (insert groan here) meditate before bed.

No, hell with that.  I'm fucking tired of it.  I tell him, no thanks, no meditation for me tonight, you go ahead, I'm too tired. And I get into bed (this beautiful huge motherfucking bed) alone (more irony) and turn my back to him and try to go to sleep.

I can feel his surprise, and something else, through the bond; I've never turned down a chance to meditate with him before, and I can feel his asking why, but I don't feel like answering, so I close it off.  That's my best analogy to what it feels like, like a water tap in my head that I can open all the way if I want to, making it hot or warm or cold, whatever I'm feeling.  Or, in this case, that I can close completely if I don't feel like sharing.  Which I don't.  

_Welcome to being rejected.  Sucks, don't it?  Hells yeah it do._

"Is it because of him?"

It takes me a few seconds to figure out what the fuck he's talking about, and then I remember, our waiter from earlier tonight, Dieter, whose name I know because he slipped it to me along with his comm code when he gave me the check.  Honestly, there's no way I'm going to follow up, but it did make me feel a little better that at least somebody checked me out, somebody wants to get to know me, hang out with me, maybe, oh I don't know,  _share a bed with me_...?

And I'm feeling low and mean so I don't tell him any of that, I just say, without turning over, "No, it's not because of him, don't be an asshole."

"He desires you."

"No shit," I say, and because I'm still feeling mean, I let it out -- "At least someone does."

He is silent for a moment.  "Is it your belief that I do not?"

That, that makes me sit straight up in bed, so pissed off I can't even see straight.  "What the hell do you expect me to believe?  You haven't come near me in seventeen days!  You won't sleep with me, you won't even _touch_ me, so how the fuck does that all add up to you wanting me?"

"There is in fact nothing I want more than I do you."

Oh my God, the bullshit.  I can't stand any more.  I lie back down and pull the covers around me, check that the tap is shut good and tight, and close my eyes.  Maybe all this meditation will help me calm down enough to sleep.  Got to be good for something.

Next thing I know, the covers are torn off and I'm suspended in the air, held up by his hands as he leans over the bed, my feet sliding, backpedaling on the sheets as I try, unsuccessfully, to stand up.  His voice is low, like the rumble of distant storms on the plains, a welcome sound when you need the rain but threatening too if they're bringing twisters.

"You require proof."  A statement, not a question, and I'm so angry I don't even care what he thinks of my shitty reply.

"You've already proven what you think of me, so no, no thanks, I'm good."

He drops me back on the bed and pins my shoulders down with his hands, one knee painfully wedged on my thigh, and kisses me roughly, almost brutally, his tongue hot and thick in my mouth as he hovers above me.  And I feel the shock, the electric fence again, but it's different this time; my mind is able to differentiate it into its components and sort them, my thoughts and his thoughts, my sensations and his, as they all hit me simultaneously, blended together in the bond.  I can taste the beer on his breath and the mint of toothpaste on mine, feel his knee crushing my thigh and my erection growing against the side of his leg, and now as he drops himself to lie fully on me, I feel his hips moving into mine from both our perspectives, and it's so hot that I have to tear my mouth away from his to take in huge gulps of air so I can cry out.

His thoughts fill me, swirling around my own in a crazy mixture that would make me insane if I weren't able to separate his from mine.

_Proof enough?_  

_yes please please_

_Show me what you want_  

_i can't_

_Yes_

So I let him see something, an image of me tied down on the bed, powerless to stop him as he makes me come in his beautiful hand, those long, elegant fingers wrapped around my dick.

_too much...?_

He laughs in my head.

_Child's play, little James_

And he lets me see a vision of myself, tied down as well and drenched in sweat, with him impaling himself on me, making me come inside him as I struggle and scream, then lifting and reversing himself over me to clean my cock with his mouth while I, whimpering in fulfillment, lap and suck my own come out of his ass.

_oh my god that's so_

He laughs again as his hands move down my arms, from my shoulders to my hands, and he pulls them up and over my head, clamping both of them in one of his so that he can pull down my shorts with the other.  And now I feel his hand around me as well as my hardness in his hand, feel him start to stroke me as my pulse beats against his palm.  

_so beautiful so hard yes_  

_harder please_

_yes your pleasure oh_

_your eyes so_

_yes_

_oh my god my_

_yes_

His mouth comes down on my neck, hot and biting, and I'm gone, over the edge, his thoughts drowning out my own as my mind goes blank

_joy yes oh wonderful mine so beautiful mine_

and I know I'm going to faint again, which pisses me off for two reasons.  One, it means he was right to make me spend all that time in meditation around his fucking firepot.  Two, it means I'm not going to feel most of what he's doing next, which is slowly, lovingly, licking the come off my belly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I admit it. The waiter's name is a nod to the old SNL skit "Sprockets." So sorry. (not really)


	45. Jim and Spock (2)

 

"Jesus fuck, what the hell do you have in this thing, rocks?"

"Negative.  It contains merely your personal effects, none of which comprise any manner of geological specimens so far as I am aware."

"Goddamn it, couldn't you at least have found a ground floor apartment?  Or a building with a _working_ elevator?"

"I reasoned that the superior view, combined with the decreased security risk, would make the fourth floor a more desirable location than the ground level."

"Well, if you'd let me go house-hunting with you, I'd have told you otherwise.  Both my shoulders are dislocated."

"Were that indeed the case, you would not be able to carry the container.  As to the presence of a 'working elevator,' the condition of the lift is likely to be temporary, and it is logical to assume that it will once again be operational at some point in the near future."

"So fucking convenient of it to break right when we need it.  Stupid fucking...walk-up with its stupid...fucking...fourth floor.  Jesus...fucking Christ."

"I apologize if my choice is not to your liking.  Perhaps you should reserve judgment until you view the interior living space."

"You said...it was unfurnished."

"Indeed, I have not yet had an opportunity to supply it with much beyond the very barest of necessities.  Your ability to withstand the relative discomfort of sleeping on the floor will have been heightened by your diligence in meditative practice."

"Can't wait.  Sounds fucking...awesome."

Spock does not reply because they have finally arrived at the entrance to their new home, the only door on the landing.  He opens it with a touch of the key chip and stands aside to let Jim, dramatically panting in partly-feigned exhaustion and agony, enter first.

It is not the bare, unfurnished flat Spock had alluded to.  The front door opens to a short, wide hallway beyond which lies a sunny and inviting front room.  Jim staggers in and stops, frozen, his eyes taking in the couch and armchairs arranged around a low central table, the small dining area to his right with a higher table and chairs set around it, and the spotless kitchen in which a cooler containing their lunch of sandwiches and beer rests on the counter.

Spock takes the cargo container from Jim's arms and lays it down on the hardwood floor before gently taking his elbow and guiding him toward one of two doors off the front hallway.  It is the guest bathroom, already supplied with soap and towels, delicately scented and inviting.  The other door across from it opens into the first of the two bedrooms, now converted into a study, one side designed as a meditation space with mats and small bolsters arranged around a central area that awaits the placement of the firepot.  The other side of the room holds the old-fashioned desk Jim bought for his use at the Academy, his small coffeepot resting on its polished surface, his collection of books arranged on the hutch above it next to the holos that Spock found buried beneath a stack of black undershirts in the dresser of his quarters on the _Enterprise_ , of George holding baby Sam and of Winona happily clutching her sons.

They pass through the study toward the master bathroom at the other end, a jack-and-jill with two sinks, a shower, and a separate tub, fresh new towels already laid over the twin racks, to the door opposite, into the bedroom, where they stop to take in the sight.  

Two dressers and closets, both already containing the clothes Spock sneaked out of the hotel on one of his many nighttime expeditions made while Jim slept, unaware.  Two suit racks upon which hang their grey service uniforms, caps resting above and boots below.  Two night tables on opposite sides of the one large bed, its surface draped with a striped spread in variegated tones of blue and brown, two sets of pillows resting against the metal headboard.

Jim looks around the room, eyes wide and lips moving soundlessly, speechless.  

Spock lets his hand drift off of Jim's elbow to settle on his waist.  "I had hoped for our first intimate encounter to occur here.  But I am happy for it to be the site of our second, so long as it is only the second of many more to come."

Jim, still in dumb shock, is making no attempt to hide his thoughts, massive ocean waves that break against the rocky shore of Spock's consciousness, drenching him with an unexpected poignancy as he stands and observes them.  For amid the powerful roar and lively spray of his lover's delight at the gift lies the core of disbelief that darkens the water from purest blue to a leadened indigo: the foreboding that this is all some sort of sick prank and the conviction that no one would ever do something this extraordinary for him, that no one could care for him this much.

He pulls the still figure to him and melts around it, threading his fingers through the bright hair and tucking the stunned face into the side of his neck as Jim's hands mechanically rise to rest on his lower back.  

_This is what is real_

_Please believe_

And a few moments later, he feels Jim relax against him, accepting the truth, for now.

_You never leave me_

_Never, beloved_

 

FIN!


End file.
